


Eyes On Fire

by SheWolf_Running



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual character(s), Background Genyatta in later chapters, Background Sympharah, Depression, Dissociation, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Medical Abuse, Medical Experimentation, Panic Attacks, Supernatural Elements, Underworld Power Couple AU, implied r76
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-03-21 13:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13741443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheWolf_Running/pseuds/SheWolf_Running
Summary: “If a coin comes down heads, that means that the possibility of its coming down tails has collapsed. Until that moment the two possibilities were equal.But on another world, it does come down tails. And when that happens, the two worlds split apart.”― Philip Pullman, The Golden CompassIn another, kinder world, the end of the Omnic crisis would mean the beginning of a brief period of relative peace. Overwatch and Blackwatch would continue their work in cleaning up the rubble, charging towards a brighter future; together they'd force the scraps of shadow that would become Talon to scrabble slowly into power, only emerging nearly a decade post-crisis.Gabriel Reyes would take in a boy hurt beyond reckoning and raise him to semi-healthy adulthood, falling into the dark after a happy decade with his husband and their makeshift family.Jesse McCree would have parents, siblings, a purpose he grew to love, and a place among heroes.But that's another world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse's Blackwatch career gets off to a rough start.

“I keep having this fantasy about some wide river or channel I'm on the bank of. I can look up, and on the far side is another, better self… watching me flail over here, watching me from the life I'm supposed to have had. When did it become impossible to get there from here? When did that bridge get burned?”

― **Garth Risk Hallberg, City On Fire**

 

“Try and keep up.”

Jesse’s head shot forward from where it’d been trying to track their progress through the building. He fought back a cold sweat as the scarred, dark-skinned man ahead of him strode forward, his swift steps carrying him smoothly down the hall with what looked to be effortless grace. He broke into a half-jog, trying to match his stride to that of the older man’s.

The hallway they were passing down was just the same as all the others had been, so far as Jesse could tell. Long, the cold side of cool, and made up entirely of dark grey duracrete and dull silver metal. The doors swept past like the stone statues he’d once seen during a class presentation on acid rain, grey and almost horrifyingly featureless. Jesse fought back another shiver; the apparently regulation fatigues he’d been stuffed into without so much as a by-your-leave did little to fend off the chill. His hair, freshly washed and still soaked, dripped cold rivulets of water down the back of his neck. 

The broad, black-clad shoulders ahead of him didn’t so much as twitch as Jesse came up beside him once more, the man only shooting him a brief glance before continuing his way around a right corner.

“Well, you’ve got your clothes and toiletries, you don’t smell like a locker room anymore, and medical processed you yesterday, so that should be all for the moment.” The man- Commander, Jesse reminded himself, he’d said to call him Commander Reyes- stopped at a sleek metal door that was, so far as the teenager could tell, identical to all the others they’d passed. He punched in a code to quickly for Jesse to track before stepping inside.

The room was exactly what one would expect from the kind of building with no decor but the door frames. It was small, and square, with four plain duracrete walls and the same desk and set of chairs that inhabited every mid-level bureaucrat’s office in North America. Jesse only had time to note the the presence of another person and an unexpected pot of some bright green, stringy plant with wide leaves dangling from a shelf before Commander’s words caught his attention again.

“Your basic training starts tomorrow. 07:00 sharp. If you’re late? Tough, I don’t want excuses.” Commander leveled a matter-of-fact look at Jesse, blank but for the slight narrowing of his eyes. “You’re on probation for the next six months, kid. It’s up to you where you’ll be going once it’s over. _Don’t. Fuck up._ ”

Jesse swallowed as inconspicuously as possible, his mouth dry.

Commander’s eyes lingered on his face a moment longer, letting his words marinate, before turning to face further inside. “Agent Parker?”

The other person in the room made himself known, hopping from the relaxed stance he’d taken before acknowledgement to a salute so tight his muscles quivered. A white guy, somewhere in his late twenties by Jesse’s estimate, with brown hair and features as blandly caucasian as his name. He would’ve been nearly impossible to pick out of a lineup of accountants, if not for the muscle very few white collar men could boast. 

Jesse spared a moment to note the man’s practiced non-expression before spotting the way his eyes flickered to him and back to Gabe; the brief malice in that lapse sent a fresh wave of dread through his stomach, the latest in a recent string of adrenaline bursts. _Oh no_.

Commander, obliviously scrolling through something on his padd, hadn’t noticed the slip. “At ease.” The younger man relaxed into the languid stance he’d held before, somehow managing to radiate both menace and innocence simultaneously. Jesse kept his eyes trained on his shoulders, the newest threat deemed the most dangerous.

“You’ll be responsible for Agent McCree’s whereabouts for the foreseeable future. Until he knows the layout of the base, you’ll be accompanying him throughout the day to make sure he’s where he needs to be.” Something on the padd caught Commander’s attention, his eyes widening before slipping closed with a heavy sigh, his right hand coming up to clutch the bridge of his nose in a motion as weary as it was practiced. Once more, he missed the shift in White Guy’s body language, his shoulders stiffening with his face into disdainful rage before smoothing out just as swiftly.

“Fucking- Right.” He straightened up, removing his hand from his face as his features hardened into a stony mask.”Well, I suppose this is the end for today. Good luck recruit. Agent Parker, I’m sure you’ll do a fine job.” He turned, making his way towards the door as briskly as he’d made his way in.

Jesse, frozen by the unexpected ( _stupid, should’ve known_ -) turn of events, focused all his energy on maintaining an illusion of calm. By the glint in Parker’s eye, he wasn’t entirely successful. He turned to Commander in a frantic bid for time.

“Um, Si-Commander? What should I do fer the rest’a th’day?”

Commander paused and glanced back at him with raised brows.

“Well, that’s up to you. I suggest you get some food from the cafeteria before it closes in,” he checked his watch, “-forty-five minutes. Beyond that, so long as you stay to the public spaces or your quarters and don’t go making trouble I couldn’t care less. Agent Parker?”

White Guy, who until that moment had been doing his best impression of the starving coyotes Jesse’d seen circling the compound back home who’d found a bleeding mouse, snapped back to attention. “Sir?”

“Escort Agent McCree to the cafeteria. He hasn’t eaten since 09:00, and he should get the chance to meet some of his coworkers.”

“Right away sir.”

And with that, the only face close to familiar Jesse had left in the world waltzed out the door, taking all tentative hope of safety with him. 

Jesse didn’t let himself watch the door close behind Commander, turning instead to face White Guy head-on; he’d dropped all pretense of amicability with Commander’s exit. Jesse drew in a shaky breath at the depth of delighted hatred that shone through the man’s expression.

“Soooo. You’re the little fuck you shot up half the strike team, huh?” White Guy was prowling forward, clearly attempting leonine grace and falling short. The lack of coordination didn’t make it any less menacing. “Well?”

Jesse had no idea how to respond. He couldn’t afford a fight this early into his ‘probation’, especially not when the little voice that’d kept him alive all these- those- years in Deadlock was telling him WG was the type to go tattling to Commander if he so much as got blood on his shoe. In the end, he settled for a silent nod, emotions clamoring wildly behind the shutters slammed over them. 

WG, for whatever it was worth, didn’t make good on the threats his body was making. 

“Thought so. You certainly look like some mongrel dragged in off the street. God only knows what the fuck Reyes was thinking; we hardly need some feral fucking mutt at our backs.” WG leaned in close, close enough that all Jesse could think of were the times men and boys had pulled this shit in the past, the number of dumbasses who’d thought he’d be afraid to bite a chunk off of their faces if it meant they’d get the fuck out of his space, how he couldn’t fight back now and _oh god, this is worse than Deadlock-_  

“Well.” WG leaned back, a sickeningly smug grin on his face. Jesse didn’t think he’d hated anybody quite so much as he hated him in that moment. He kept that fire banked low. Easy, easy, _él es un eechaa’itsa’ii biyaazh, nos vengaremos de él-_

“So long as you know your place, there shouldn’t be too much of an issue. Reyes’ always had a good eye for weapons.” WG’s eyes flickered over Jesse, clearly looking for a reaction. Jesse stared back, face as blank as he could make it, muscles as loose as he could force them. He allowed himself to imagine clenching his fists, but didn’t let his hands twitch.

Seemingly disappointed ( _peligroso, careful, careful, gotta give him something or he’ll dig harder-_ ), WG turned back and did his odd not-prowl over to his desk, picking up his padd before heading to the door. Jesse tracked the man’s movements with his eyes, only moving to follow when he reached the door.

“Might as well get you to the caf. I hardly want the Commander thinking I don’t do my damn job, even if it is playing babysitter to a murderer,” muttered WG. Jesse pointedly didn’t say that the only murderers from his seat were the assholes who’d swooped in and slaughtered the only semblance of family he had left in the world.

They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity, those blank doors passing endlessly. WG didn’t seem to care that Jesse was at his back so long as he kept to the corner of his eyeline, which Jesse could live with just fine. Even if he couldn’t do a goddamn thing to defend himself if it came down to a scrap, he could still work prevention as hard as possible.

Occasionally, they’d pass another person or two in the hallway. Without fail, they’d cast a neutral eye over WG before spotting him and and grimacing with varying degrees of intensity. Every one.

News travelled fast, apparently.

Finally, WG took a right and they were in front of a set of double doors, just as nondescript as the rest but for the small circular windows near the top. He didn’t even pause, just brushed through, leaving Jesse to scrabble half-heartedly in his wake.

The moment he entered the caf, an oppressive silence fell. He looked up from where he’d trained his eye to the floor to see roughly three dozen people in various versions of the same black shirt and pants he was in either glaring straight at him, pointedly avoiding eye contact, or flicking suspicious glances from beneath their lashes. WG, the prick, had of course charged ahead with no regard for the scene brewing. He levied a sneer back at Jesse, a charmingly self-deprecating smile at the room, and headed for the long counter full of more food than Jesse could remember seeing in one place before.

“Hurry up newbie,” WG spat, not bothering to check Jesse’s progress. Jesse sidled up to the counter laid along the right side of the room and tried not to seem as overwhelmed by the choices as he was.

WG, who grabbed some sort of hot, boxed meal from a stack of similar containers, was already rushing down the line, snagging a small apple, some cutlery, and pausing to grab a large cup of water, beelining for a large table of agents of disparate sizes, all of whom quickly made room and bent towards WG with avarice for fresh scandal painted on their faces. The whole process had taken under 25 seconds.

Jesse, standing at the edge of the counter, stared at the boxes, cartons, and bins in front of him. There were more fresh fruits than he’d seen since he was little, strange vegetables almost dripping with water, and unfamiliar labeling on most of the boxes. Overwhelmed, he picked at random a box of what looked to be some sort of pasta, several apples, a fork, and one of the larger cups, filling it with so much water it was nearly in danger of spilling. He chugged half of it down, too desperate for it to abide by the common sense on dehydration. Sated, he refilled the cup to the same volume and walked straight to one of the few unoccupied tables.

He carefully placed his cup down, then his food, before sitting and letting himself take a look around the room. Conversation had picked up again, but it was hushed, and more than a few people were still shooting him the occasional glare.

He slumped, placing his right shoulder blade to the wall in a casually defensive twist, and began to eat. The prepackaged meal he’d picked up seemed to be some kind of pasta dish, baked in red sauce and cheese with small chunks of an unidentifiable meat. He ate it one cylindrical noodle at a time, taking a sip of water in between each bite; he’d barely noticed the hunger until now, but it wouldn’t do to get excited and scarf it down in one go. Who knew how long he’d be stuck here with hostiles, and it’d been days since he’d had anything approaching a full meal.

The sudden slam of silverware against a tabletop had his ears pricked and muscles tensed. He looked over to the group of six people just under his 9 o’clock, one man in a buzzcut and no older than 23 glaring at him. Jesse inadvertently met his eyes before pointedly looking the other way, practically sinking into the wall at his shoulder. It hadn’t been enough. He’d caught the dawning smirk on the man’s lips. 

“God, did you hear about Clio and Jarrett? They’re still laid up in medical.” He knew right away Buzzcut was the one who’d spoken. It was the kind of voice that could only belong to a bulky man with delusions of subtlety. 

“Yeah man, it’s brutal.” An unidentified tenor.

“I heard that Jarrett might not walk again.” A soft, high-pitched voice, ringing with sorrow but with an undercurrent of gossip’s delight.

“Fucking shit. At least he took down what, 20 of the bastards?” Buzzcut again.

“Yeah, something like that.” Another tenor, richer, and with a drawl that indicated the speaker was bored with the conversation.

“I hope he made it slow. Stupid gang-banging douchebags got what was coming to ‘em. Well,” Buzzcut was projecting now, clearly aiming at Jesse. “ _Most_ of ‘em.”

“I don’t know what the Commander is thinking,” murmured the high voice. “There’s no way he’s gonna make it through basic, just look at him. A stiff wind could knock him over.”

Jesse carefully clenched only the hand sitting between the wall and his leg. _Ignore it ignore it ignore it ignore it they want a rise they want you kicked out before you start-_

“And then there’s the fact that he’s a goddamn murderer.” Buzzcut sounded gleeful.

“Ronnie!”

“What! It’s the damn truth! We’re working for the common fucking good, and we only go after the worst people on this planet. Yeah? Well he killed twelve of our guys, and landed two more on what might be permanent leave. He’s a fucking murderous criminal, and the day he flunks out and lands himself in maximum security can’t come soon enough.”

Jesse was floating now, adrift in clouds of red-tinged nothingness. The screams were ringing in from the dead and dying of Deadlock. He was the only one left.

“I mean.” Tenor sounded unsure, but not by much.

“You know I’m right.”

Jesse found his attention wandering to a table to his upper right, who seemed to have picked up Buzzcut’s tactic. 

“There’s no hope for the little bastard. If he can kill that efficiently with an antique pistol and no formal training, it’s the worst kind of mistake to try and get him up to Blackwatch standards. Not that he _could_.”

Jesse cut the last strands of awareness away and floated out from himself, fleeing the cruel scrutiny for the only respite he had left. He ate his pasta little by little, though it could’ve been sawdust for all he could tell, working through it until all that was left was the apples. He powered through them too, watching from outside his body as the more malicious among the surrounding tables gave up on getting a reaction. He stripped them of all the flesh he could, distantly thinking of how it would feel to be sinking his teeth into the agents around him throwing daggers with their minds.

He finished the last of them and stacked the scant remains in the box that’d held the pasta before finishing off the last of the water. Bereft of anything to do with his hands, he folded his arms over his chest and sank into the wall, floating softly on the top of his mind like clouds above the Gorge.

A sudden jolt to his chair snapped him back an indeterminate amount of time later, making him jump and fling an instinctual gimlet eye up into WG’s face, immediately dropping it on sight of the other man’s expression. The full force of his glare was sobering.

“Get up,” he snapped, backing off a foot. “I’m taking you back to your room. It’s nearly curfew.”

Jesse rose to his feet, unnaturally steady, and picked up the supplies from his dinner. His mind whirled for a brief moment, trying to remember when Commander had told him his curfew, before realizing abruptly that he hadn’t. A test, then. Or a petty excuse.

WG turned with a disdainful scoff and Jesse silently followed him to the door, dropping his dishes at the box marked for it before passing through.

Just as they had before, they walked in silence, the only difference now being Jesse’s level of alertness. He was still painfully attuned to every shift in WG’s muscles, every noise to pass his lips, but he hadn’t fully come back into his skin, his consciousness threatening at every second to float away from the slightest danger.

WG turned into a short hallway, stopping at a door as featureless as the rest. “Here’s your room,” he said, unnecessarily. He turned to face Jesse, that unnerving glint back in his eyes.

“Don’t get comfortable, rat. You might not’ve had the manners to die with the rest of your scummy little friends, but you’ll learn.” With that, he turned to the keypad and punched in a code, the door sliding open gracefully. He turned back to face Jesse, arms crossed, and made no move away from the empty doorway. Jesse inched his way closer, unwilling to put his back to the man, but knowing that not doing so would be an unforgivable sign of weakness.

He decided to bite the bullet and walked the last couple feet normally. Just as he passed through the frame, his left foot caught on the door jam, sending him stumbling the last couple steps into his room. He quickly twisted back up only to see WG’s horrible grin vanishing behind the wall of metal, his fingers tapping ominously against the keypad. He rushed back, pawing roughly along the edges of the door trying to find the mechanism to open it, unsure of what he’d do if he got out but suddenly alight with the righteous fury he’d buried all day. An unfamiliar voice sounded from an unknown location, making him start.

“Agent McCree, I advise that you cease before you damage Blackwatch property. The door has been locked, and you currently do not have authorization to open it.” A low, cool, slightly modulated voice poured into the room. 

Jesse swiveled around, throwing his gaze around frantically before settling on the nearly unnoticeable bump in the corner with the clearest view of the door. _Someone’s watching._

“Who are you? Uh, Ma’am?” Best be polite until he knew what was happening. God, he was so tired of life he could cry.

“I am Athena. I am the AI for this base.” She didn’t protest the feminine honorific.  

Jesse sat down on the edge of the lower bunk of his bed, hard. He fought desperately to control his face, but it was probably no use; AIs these days could see all sorts of things beyond the skin, especially military-grade ones.

“So. You- uh. You in charge of security an’- an’ whatnot?”

“Correct.”

“An’. An’ you’re everywhere at once, huh? Always here?”

“Correct. I see most of the base, unless Commander Reyes orders my attention away.”

“Oh.”

Jesse fought down the long-overdue hysteria that he’d been wrestling with for the past three days. Fuck, it’d only been three days since he’d been in the Gorge, waiting on the latest shipment. It felt like three weeks.

He wearily stood and stretched, mindful of the camera he now knew was tracking every movement. He carefully tried to keep his thoughts away from the fact that he would apparently have no privacy for at least the next six months. Getting to one knee, wincing briefly as his skin tugged at little bruises and scrapes that hadn’t been deemed important enough to merit biotics, he began to unlace the brand new boots that fit just a little too big on his feet.

“An’ I suppose there’s no chance’a you lookin’ away from my room for a minute, huh.”

“I’m afraid not.” The AI’s voice even had a touch of sympathy. Jesse swallowed convulsively, hand paused in the midst of untying his left boot. 

“Alrigh’.” He finished with the knot and kicked off both boots before standing up, pausing again to fiddle with his belt a moment; there were scars on his body he really, really didn’t want exposed. Finally, he took a breath and just started shucking off the strange clothes as fast as possible, desperate to get down to skin that felt only marginally more familiar. He kept his boxers on for decency’s sake, but the desire to shed all outward traces of his new ownership bubbled, sending shivers and raising all the hair on his body. Nudity was a vulnerability, but he’d seen it wielded as a weapon before; it’d certainly feel better than the knowledge that he looked like everyone else in this new hellhole.

Trembling with ever increasing intensity, Jesse all but dove under the cover of his bunk, not surprised to find his sheets were rough-rendered bamboo, the blanket thin but sturdy synth-wool. It wasn’t his well-loved nest of clothing scraps-turned-quilts that he’d had in one of the little caves above Deadlock’s headquarters, worn soft with wear and smelling of the desert heat and his own body, but it was decent enough. To be expected, given the military rigor of the base.

He’d known a few former military types in Deadlock. Matt, José, Alex- they’d all been relics of the Omnic wars, chewed up and spat back into what was left of the Southwest with barely a pension and more than their fair share of scars. Matt had been an asshole, made mean by the killing or by nature, and he’d avoided the man like the plague. José and Alex, though…

They’d been like cousins, raised apart and then thrown together during a summer-long family reunion, bonded through circumstance and precious little else. Alex was the first person he’d met to use ‘they’ pronouns, and was like to have had the sweetest voice outside of his mama he’d ever known; José’d loved mocking the coyotes at night and had given him his first cigarette, laughing at the way he choked.

He hadn’t been all that close with them, hadn’t been that close with anybody in Deadlock by the end. The friends he’d had at 13 were all dead by the time the Crisis was over, to say nothing of his family.

He’d seen José get his brains blown out by a now-familiar shotgun. He’d been trying to crawl back to the crates Jesse’d been hiding behind, face desperate and then missing. He never saw what happened to Alex, but he’d heard their scream cut short with a horrible gurgle. They’d been 23 and 22. 

“Athena? C-Could you turn out the lights? Please?” Jesse’s teeth chattered. He’d curled himself entirely beneath the blanket, head and all, face tucked close to the wall. It might not’ve been a smart move leaving his back to the camera and door, but right now he needed the semblance of privacy more.

“Of course.” The lights dimmed before cutting out entirely. The darkness was as complete as it’d been in his little den on a moonless night. “... Sleep well, Agent McCree.” The AI ( _gotta remember, just an AI, her whole brain’s up for perusin’-_ ) sounded almost hesitant, something almost like baffled.

Jesse didn’t reply. He was shaking like a leaf, tears he’d been holding back for days now emerging in an almighty flood against his cheeks. Flickering snippets of screams and the harsh flashes of explosions sped through his mind, like a holo on fast-forward; Jenny, Maria, Matt, Sonia, David, Emmet, Sal- all of them falling, bodies shredded, blood flying.

He bit into the pillow beneath his cheek, straining not to make a sound. As small and violent and shitty as his life in Deadlock had been, he’d had a place there, and it’d been as familiar as the dust under his boots. The omnics had taken his mama and half of New Mexico, and now the people who’d taken the omnics had taken his life whole.

In a moment, Jesse’s shocked and grieving tears turned to rage, bone-deep and hotter than a forge. These assholes, this Blackwatch- they’d taken him in, but in the same way the big-name ranches took in the wild horses every year.

They wanted that wild blood, the desert-bred talent, but they wanted him broken for it.

Jesse couldn’t hold onto the sharp edge of anger for long, too bone-weary and strung out from days of endless abuses big and small. With as much control as he could muster, he folded the flames into themselves, carefully banking them until they were coals; cool as the ground you walked on up top, hot enough to melt metal underneath. He’d practiced this thousands of times, first with the metallic tang of fear during omnium surges, and then with pain and anger once Deadlock’d scooped him up. The first few months there’d been rife with blows literal and spiritual; Blackwatch could be no different.

His shakes evened out, slowing as his tears began to run dry. He wouldn’t forget what’d been done to him, or to the other kids who’d been gunned down instead of forced to work for their murderers. There’d be plenty of time for revenge, but for now, he’d let himself mourn the fall of the last family he’d had.

He let himself slip into the desert, the one he visited nearly every night; it’d always mirrored the one back home, but ever so slightly off, like the world seen through the bottom of a glass. He felt the brush of fur against his legs, the warmth of the sun-drenched stone, the gentle chuffs and snorts of unidentified animals drifting to him from the darkened underbrush.

And, for the first of many nights to come, Jesse McCree fell asleep with tears drying tacky on his face.

 

* * *

 

In another world, Gabriel Reyes would’ve stayed with Jesse for the rest of the day. There would’ve been no update on terrorist activity and the news of a mole within Blackwatch to distract him from the buried hatred in Agent Parker’s heart; he’d have quietly introduced the two, asked Agent Parker about the status of his latest debrief, and gone about finding a more receptive guide.

With the Commander sitting across from the newest recruit, the agents in the cafeteria would’ve resentfully acquiesced to Jesse’s recruitment, not daring to goad the infamous temper of Gabriel Reyes by questioning his latest choice publicly. Agents would come to him in private, far from Jesse, for assurance that the Commander had truly thought through the consequences of his actions. He would’ve thoughtfully ripped them a new one and sent them on their way.

Jesse would’ve moved around the cafeteria with all the caution of a mountain cat, slow and deliberate, with muscles coiled and eyes watchful for danger. The Commander would’ve first gently guided Jesse through the various food options, remarking on his favorites, before sitting with him at a two person table, eating a burger, and making quiet small talk to keep Jesse from climbing outside his own skin. He'd have spending the first of many days to come unraveling that wariness, building trust in both himself and the organization,

Jesse still would’ve cried himself into wrathful sleep, but it would’ve been tinged with the first sparks of desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, things would be better with Blackwatch than they'd been in Deadlock. He would’ve been right, and enjoyed a happy decade and a half there before it all came crumbling down.

But that’s another world.

 

 

 

“Intention, good or bad, is not enough.”

― **John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> "él es un eechaa’itsa’ii biyaazh, nos vengaremos de él-" --> "He's a bastard, we'll get him-"
> 
> "Peligroso" --> "Danger"
> 
> ~~~~
> 
> *John Oliver voice* Welcome! To whatever this is!!
> 
> So, after years of not writing/posting fanfic, I finally have a work of my own on AO3!! What??
> 
> I have no idea how this whole thing is gonna go in practical terms, but rest assured I have the entire thing (at least 12 chapters, maybe more) planned out. The McHanzo won't be coming in for another 6 chapters at least, but it is in the works, I promise.
> 
> Shoutout to ace-jesse-mccree on Tumblr for being my go-to Overwatch friend and for kicking me into actually doing this thing. You're terrible, never stop doing what you're doing ;D
> 
> On another note, please forgive my Spanish and Navajo if I get anything incorrect. I don't speak/write either language, so this is a very tentative inclusion. If I get anything wrong, please don't hesitate to let me know, and that goes for any cultural material as well.
> 
> I won't be touching on many cultural traditions/religious practices/etc in this fic, as this is very much a learning experience and I'm leery of causing pain with my ignorance. I'm doing my research as I go, so hopefully going forward I'll be able to balance detail with sensitivity.
> 
> That said, if I do slip up, please let me know and I'll attempt to fix it to the best of my abilities.
> 
> But for now: Yes, Jesse is mixed-race Navajo :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse meets Fareeha, and learns some troubling information about his new bosses.

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

― **Maya Angelou**

 

 _Smack. Smack. Smack-smack. Smack._  

The large room echoed with the sounds of bare fists hitting faux-leather in an irregular pattern, underscored by harsh panting on the cusp of becoming outright coughs. 

Jesse stood upright out of sheer, brittle force of will, hurling himself at one of the practice dummies with all of his faltering strength, his blows sloppy with exhaustion. He aimed near randomly for the spots he knew would inflict the most damage on a real enemy, conjuring the image of Agents Parker and Ronald Jackson to add viciousness to his movements. 

He couldn’t keep up the frenetic pace for long. Finally, a punch aimed at the stationary head missed, and Jesse fell face-first into the dummy’s chest. He hung off it for a moment, arms clinging around the rubber shoulders, before sliding gracelessly to the floor, turning at the last minute to lean his back against the base. 

He sat there gasping for a minute with his eyes closed and mouth open, feeling his heartrate slowly come down from the jackrabbit hammering he’d worked it up to, blood rushing through his body and roaring in his ears. Feeling alive, despite everything.

“Agent McCree, I must advise that you stop training at this juncture. You are currently in danger of serious injury if you continue.” Athena’s voice rang out into the empty room, slightly muffled by the padding built into the walls and the rubber mats stacked in two, somewhat neat piles in the far corners. She sounded cool and collected as ever, but retained that almost unnervingly human thread of emotion; concern, this time.

“Yeah.” Gasp. “Ok.” Gasp. “I hear ya.” Gasp.

Jesse sat there for another minute, his gasping fading into deep breaths with every heave, only hauling himself back up once his muscles started threatening to remember just how much energy he’d spent in the past six hours. He caught the rest of his breath with a gulping swallow of air, straightening up fully onto his shaking legs and letting his breath out with the force of a bellows.

Turning to the bench where he’d left his things, he limped over and began to stretch out, gingerly working each muscle out to try and stave off the possibility of knots. He bent, and twisted, and rose, and twisted more, each movement sending little shivers of pleasured agony throughout his body that were swiftly fading in intensity, the fuzz of endorphins losing out to reality.

He finished as his hands began to properly throb, knuckles swelling from abuse despite meticulous wrapping. He gathered his small bag (a repurposed pillowcase that he’d seen in the garbage the other week, a small tear having rendered it worthless to whatever spoiled owner had tossed it) and grabbed his water bottle, chugging it in small gulps. It tasted the way water only could when you’ve let your mouth run dry and leathery from hot air: sweet and clear and cool. It pooled in the back of his throat like nectar, soothing the ache of thirst.

On drinking the last of his water he resealed the top, stuffed it back inside his bag, and began making his way to the locker room with ever-stiffening steps. Athena followed, her voice shifting origin to match his pace. 

“For maximal recovery, I recommend you begin with a cold shower to reduce the inflammation you are currently exhibiting, followed by hot water to aid blood flow.”

“Will do, Ma’am.”

“As per your previous request, I see no individuals currently within or in transit to the locker room.”

“Thank ya kindly, Ma’am.” Jesse let out a small sigh of relief at that, tiredly pushing open the door to the locker room and making for the showers, his few tightening muscles releasing a fraction; at least he wouldn’t have to worry about avoiding someone while settling. 

He paused at the water fountain just inside the hallway, refilling his empty bottle before continuing his way to the third-to-last stall. He hauled all his belongings in with him, carefully placing them on the little plastic stool just inside the curtain, arranging them just out of range of the shower head. He stripped of his regulation sweatpants and undershirt, folding them sloppily and placing them on top of the little pile. 

Looking around, he realized he’d forgotten to get a larger towel, and immediately headed for the area behind the wall of shower cubicles to the shelves of clean towels, folded and ready for use; he grabbed one at random off of one of the neat stacks and returned, hanging it from the peg above the stool. Stripping out of his boxers and placing them on the now precarious pile of cloth occupying the stool, he braced himself, shoulders hunched, and flipped on the shower to the coldest setting. 

The water sputtered to life directly into his face, as shocking in its chill and pressure as an unexpected punch. Spluttering, Jesse abruptly turned the shower off again, desperately trying to catch his breath, before deciding it couldn’t get any worse than that and switching it back on.

Athena remained silent, so presumably she hadn’t seen anybody in the general vicinity; he’d requested on his second day that she refrain from talking to him while he was naked unless his safety was in question, and to his relief she’d honored it so far. He let himself groan in frustrated discomfort at the cold water running in freezing rivulets down the length of his body, pumping the soap from the wall-mounted dispenser frantically and scrubbed hard to rid himself of the sweat that had drenched him over the course of his workout. He briefly longed for a washcloth to properly clean himself, but dismissed it as irrelevant, since it clearly wasn’t a priority for the rest of the agents here and would therefore never be a possibility. _Damn barbarians._

After several minutes, he switched the water to hot, sighing in relief as the heat of it thawed muscles that had begun to stiffen. A dip in cold water could feel close to paradise when it was noon in the middle of the desert, but in a glorified concrete box that constantly had air conditioning running, it was far from pleasant. 

Jesse palmed some shampoo from the other wall dispenser and scrubbed his head furiously, already looking forward to collapsing into his bed for a dreamless night; he’d quickly found the best cure for the nightmares dogging his steps was to work himself past exhaustion every day, and that hadn’t been much of a hard habit to adopt.

After rinsing the last suds out of his hair, he grabbed his towel off the pile of assorted cloth, carefully placing his other hand on the side to prevent the whole thing from collapsing. He sloppily dried his hair and body, limbs already uncooperative with fatigue. He dressed himself with graceless abandon, throwing on his spare pair of boxers, sweatpants, and his overshirt, yanking his socks and boots on and lacing them in sharp tugs. He stuffed the dirty workout clothes into his pillowcase-bag alongside his water bottle, slinging the damp towels over his shoulder as he made his way to the massive laundry cart next to the main entrance.

 “Agent McCree, your previous request remains standing, correct?” Athena’s voice rang out, urgency splattering into the humid air. Jesse froze, mind racing to unpleasant conclusions.

“Yeah, it sure is. What’cha seen, Ma’am?”

“The cameras at the closest intersections of corridors W, G, E, D, and L have all been disconnected within the past three minutes. The audio from those locations suggest that Agents Parker and Jackson have arranged to intercept your departure along with Agents Ward, Smith, Vonner, and Kane. Based on current data, the likelihood that they mean to deal you harm is incredibly high.”

Jesse was already backtracking further into the locker room, moving as quickly and quietly as possible to the towel racks, the only area out of the immediate sight lines of the entrances. _Fuck, of course they’d try this again today._  

“Alright, what’re my options here? Any ideas Miss Athena?”

“Agent Vonner appears to be growing restless, and I put the likelihood of him departing from his post in the next minute and a half at 82%. And rising.”

“Where is he, Ma’am?” Jesse was practically vibrating, ready to move. 

“Agent Vonner is located at the bend of the hallway past the side entry between the sauna and the lockers. Begin moving into position immediately and await further instruction.”

Jesse was already moving, breezing past the lockers fast enough to make a scrap of fabric sticking out of #43 flutter. He crouched to keep himself below eye level as he opened the door, as quietly as possible, just enough that he could peer out and look down the hallway; he could just see Vonner shifting back and forth, his movements suggesting his eyes were more often than not off the door. A loud huff reached Jesse’s ears as the man seemed to lose the rest of his patience ( _Good Christ these men are_ **_spies_ ** _, they’re giving me guff for being green when they’re_ **_hired_ ** _to do this shit-_ ) and began power walking left. Jesse was already moving as Athena spoke up, Vonner’s feet disappearing around the corner.

“Go, now!”

He swung the door open, hand curled around the edge to control its motion, emerging as quickly as possible as he kept low, thighs burning from the sudden exertion. He rolled his feet to keep the steps quiet, outside-in-ball-toes-heel, the silent coyote steps his mother had taught him when he was 5.

He made it to the intersection in seconds, pausing to glance down the hall Vonner’d disappeared into just long enough to confirm that he still wasn’t facing Jesse’s way before dashing across the open ground in two long-legged strides, muffling the steps as best he could. Not wasting a second, he kept up the pace, just shy of running to the end of the hallway and turning left. He half threw himself against the wall, straining to hear any footsteps that might be following his.

Nothing. 

He breathed in a heaving sigh of relief, letting it hiss quietly out of his mouth in a controlled release. Unlike those _pendejos_ , he was a goddamn _professional_. 

The quiet moment was broken by Athena’s voice, low and urgent, emanating from the wall behind him.

 “Agent McCree, start moving down this hall and make a right, _immediately_. Agent Parker-” an angry shout echoed down the hallway he’d just escaped, “-just discovered you’re no longer in the locker room. The lights will guide you.” Jesse, who’d frozen at the sound of Athena’s voice, began scrambling further down the hallway, breaking into an outright run as the sound of pounding boots reached him from several halls over.

The lights straight ahead of him flickered once, each fluorescent bulb giving a little flash before yielding to the one ahead, like runners handing off a baton. Now left. Straight. Right. Left. Left. Right.

Jesse followed, trying desperately not to sacrifice stealth for speed, but there was only so much he could do; he’d been exercising for hours, and his muscles had been ready to give out when all he’d been planning was a snuck meal from the cafeteria and bed. The rapid slapping of his footsteps echoed down the halls, though quieter than the veritable herd of bastion units crashing behind him. 

He wouldn’t put it past them to be deliberately making a commotion as a scare tactic; after all, they were ( _ostensibly_ ) professional spies, and they’d picked the moment when he was most vulnerable to try ambushing him again. 

“No, wait! Left!” 

Athena’s voice rang out, more quietly than usual, to emphasize the sudden shift in the light trail’s direction. Jesse skidded slightly as he tried to shift directions midway through the intersection, doing as he was told; the echoes of the hunting party shifted alarmingly from his right to somewhere ahead of him. He ducked around the corner and slumped against the wall. 

“Ma’am I can’t.. Keep on... Like this!” Jesse gasped, desperately trying to catch his breath.

“Acknowledged. Recalculating.” The light directly ahead flickered urgently, and Jesse began jogging slowly, unable to muster any more energy despite the danger. When he got to the bend, a light around the corner at the end of a dead end flickered in place, directly in front of a door. As he approached, Athena spoke out once more. “That’s a maintenance closet; it’s currently open. Get in and I will lock it behind you for ten minutes.”

Jesse came up on the closet, the smallest door he’d seen so far on the endless rows of identical steel, and the only one with a handle. He flung it open, threw himself in, yanking the door shut behind him with a final-sounding thunk-click. He turned to face the inside of the dimly lit closet, muttering “Why ten min-?” when an unexpected sight stopped him square in his tracks.

Sitting on a crate of unidentified cleaning supplies that’d been wedged along the far right wall, knobbly knees tucked up around their shoulders and a face frozen with shock and shiny with tear tracks, sat a kid.

Jesse, thrown for a loop, quietly examined this newfound complication in his day. The long braided and beaded hair suggested the kid I.D.’d as a girl, as did the dress, but he’d been wrong before; more pressing were the tears sliding down their face and the presence of a _kid, crying,_ in a _closet_ on a _paramilitary base_. 

The kid’s face had crumpled and been hidden in small knees in the span of Jesse’s six second inspection, delicate shoulders heaving with stifled sobs. Jesse, exhausted, strained, and pissed as all hell by the events of the day, felt a little like crying too. There weren’t supposed to be kids in pain here, too. 

“W-well um.” Jesse shifted awkwardly, searching for the right words for finding a child in a closet you’re hiding in and coming up completely blank. He shifted again, tongue heavy in his mouth for a few seconds before forging ahead anyway, hoping wildly that whatever came out would be acceptable.

“Howdy.” _Good enough._

The kid peeked out from behind their arms, somehow managing to radiate incredulity even as they shook with the force of their sobs. Jesse sidled closer, letting himself shift all focus to them, the promise of Athena’s protection blanking the closet with some degree of safety. He perched himself on the crate sitting across from theirs, making sure to keep his hands in front of him and out of a position that might suggest intentions of making a grab. The kid, who’d tracked his movements with one wary eye, buried their face back into their arms.

“M’name’s Jesse.” He waited, and on seeing no reaction, continued. “Pleased t’meet you. What d’ya want me to call you?”

 The kid sniffled a bit. “M’Fareeha.”

“Well, Miss Fareeha, I’m much obliged.” There was no objection to the feminine honorific.

Jesse sat there for a while, carefully examining the boxes of cleaning supplies, toilet paper, and fresh linens, keeping Fareeha square in the corner of his eye. After about 30 seconds or so the silence grew too much for her, and, wiping her nose on her sleeve, she slowly uncurled from her tight little ball, staring at him inquisitively. 

He looked back at her, noting the lack of visible injuries with distant relief; at least there was hope nobody on this base was evil enough to hit a _real_ kid.

She endured the mutual scrutiny a moment longer before asking, abruptly, “Why were you running?”

Jesse, unsure how she’d react to learning he had a small pack of agents out for his blood, replied, “Why were you cryin’?” 

Her nose scrunched as she sat up fully, righteous indignation briefly erasing the pain from her face. “I asked you first!”

“Yeah, but if you tell me why, I’ll tell you why I was runnin’.”

She shot him a suspicious glare before crumpling back into the shelves behind her, knees slipping back up in front of her. Her arms wrapped around her calves, and eyes fixed on the floor, she spoke with only a slight waver.

“Mama said not to bother her or get in trouble because she had a meeting with Uncle Gabe that’s ‘ _super important,’_ so I went to the cafeteria but no one would talk to me and I was really bored and then one of the agents said I was annoying and they weren’t ordered to babysit me so I should just go away and I’mstill _hungry_ andnooneeverwantstohangoutwithmeand-” By the end she was crying again, almost hyperventilating with the force of her emotions. Jesse was leaning towards her, hand outstretched in a terrified, instinctual empathy before he remembered himself. 

“Hey, hey-” He kept his voice in the gentle, sympathetic tone he’d used to speak to the feral cats around the diner, desperately trying to figure out a way to improve the situation. “Is it….  Would a hug help?” 

In response, she flung herself at him with arms outstretched, knocking some of the air out of him with the force of her impact. He just wrapped her up in his arms, settling against the shelves and awkwardly patting her back, mind blank with nerves. This must be Captain’s kid, the one he’d overheard her complaining to Commander about with exasperated affection. From what’s he’d managed to catch, she was an escape artist with needs higher than her mom could provide for most of the time, deeply loved but rarely understood. _Oh fuck, I can’t let her catch me holding her crying daughter, I’ll be killed on the_ **_spot_ ** _-_

“That sounds rough, I’m sorry,” he provided unhelpfully. _God I’m so bad at this_.

She shook in his loose embrace for a while, getting snot all over the front of his sweat-drenched t-shirt. Jesse tried and mostly succeeded in putting his disgust out of mind; he’d been covered in much worse fluids before, and the last thing he wanted to do was humiliate her for something she couldn’t help. He tightened his grip at that thought, hauling her up into a more secure perch as he pet gently at the back of her head. His fingers threaded through her hair in practiced, soothing motions, feeling her shake just a little less with every pass. 

Finally, she sat back, shaking his hands off gently as she slid off the half of his lap she’d been occupying and rubbed at her eyes.

“Feelin’ better?” 

She nodded, embarrassment beginning to seep into her body language. She turned her face away from Jesse, but her torso remained angled towards him. _Well, I’ll be. Guess I’m not as horrible at this as I thought_. 

They both started at the sound of Athena’s voice, despite her efforts to keep it gentle.

“I apologize for the interruption, but the door unlocked three minutes ago. Agent McCree, the situation has been resolved. You may head back to your room as intended.”

The two looked at each other, Fareeha’s face already falling into resigned disappointment, and Jesse rushed ahead before he could think better of it. 

“Do ya wanna come back with me? I don’t got nothin’ ‘til tomorrow, and I wouldn’t say no to some company.” Fareeha’s face lit up, and Jesse couldn’t bring himself to regret the invitation. 

“Yes! Let’s go!” 

Fareeha grabbed his hand and dragged him out the door, barely letting him snag his bag from where it’d slumped to the floor behind him. She realized once she got to the end of the hall that she had no idea where his room was, sheepishly letting go of his hand. Jesse chuckled, not letting her linger on the embarrassment, and headed left towards the corridor that led to his little home base. 

They walked along in silence for a minute, Fareeha’s manic excitement fading into a more temperate anticipation. He wasn’t surprised when, shortly before reaching the hall leading to his room, she asked him again in a rush, “Why were you running?”

He stayed quiet as they walked the last steps to his door, entering the code he’d fought hard to get away from WG, and debated the pros and cons of honesty. He glanced at her face as the door slid open. Nothing but open curiosity. 

Taking a leap of faith, he admitted, “I was outrunnin’ some mean ol’ bas- _guys_ who wanted t’git me but good.”

Her mouth dropped open as he walked right in, incredulity and righteous anger visibly filling her every cell. “What?!” 

“Yup. Gotta tell ya, didn’t rightly expect to meet a new friend today, but I’m glad you were the one sittin’ in that closet.” He turned back to see her still standing in the doorway, clearly still processing the injustice of it all. “C’mon in, s’even clean.”

Fareeha walked in, plopping down ungracefully onto the lower bunk he’d claimed as his primary bed with an almighty huff. “All the agents here are _jerks!_ Why were they trying to beat you up?” 

Jesse, in the middle of fishing through his desk drawers for one of the miscellaneous trinkets he’d snatched from the free bin, froze, debating again what version of the truth would be best. On the one hand, this was Captain’s daughter, and he’d definitely be facing some serious consequences if he managed to traumatize her; nothing about himself had endeared him to Captain, from what he could tell, so there’d be no wiggling out of them if they came down, either. On the other hand, Fareeha, from everything he’d seen and heard, was a lonely little girl with stronger morals than sense and nobody to talk to on base except the big bosses, who barely had time for her.

Well, when put like that there was no contest; Jesse’d always loved the true heroes. 

“Well, it’s probably a couple things. Granola bar?” He tossed her a battered package he’d swiped from the cafeteria, pausing to make sure she was going to eat it before bringing his hands up, counting off in time with his words. “I’m new, I’m better than them, I don’t have no high school diploma let alone college, I got recruited from Deadlock, and,” he said, flashing a cheeky grin as his hands lowered, “I’m more handsome than all of ‘em put together.” 

Fareeha giggled, but a furrow had appeared between her brows. “What’s Deadlock?”

Jesse sighed deeply, scrunching his face up as he turned back to the drawer and located his two beat-up packs of cards. _Damn._ He’d been hoping she wouldn’t focus in too hard on that.

“It’s not so much an ‘is’ as a ‘was’.” He turned back to face her with some reluctance, cards in hand. The furrow hadn’t disappeared. He let out a heavy breath; no getting out of it, then. “Up ‘til ‘bout 2 months ago it was a gang. Biggest in the whole Southwest.” Even after everything, he couldn’t stifle his reflexive pride in that. 

Fareeha gasped, jumping off the bed before seemingly coming to a loss as to what to do with herself, settling on placing her hands on her hips. Jesse, for a hysterical moment, thought he’d laugh; she looked almost exactly like his mom had when she’d been on a tear. “You were in a _gang_?! But- But gangs are illegal and-and do _bad things!_ And you’re not bad! Are you?” That last accusation was thrown out like a gauntlet, half disbelieving and half ready for a fight.

“Well, I sure don’t think so.” Jesse felt a potent mix of embarrassed and indignant. He wasn’t quite sure what he could say that’d justify his life; sure, Deadlock hadn’t been great by the end, but only a handful of the people there that he’d known personally were what he’d consider genuinely bad people, and they’d all fallen into the ranks in the last year and a half. In the past two months he’d met at least as many in Blackwatch, and so far as he knew they’d been there since the beginning. _Then again_ , he thought ruefully, _Blackwatch has permission to be evil_ hijos de la chingada,  _an’ when’ve the men in charge ever given a shit when we’ve got no other choice?_  

Fareeha hadn’t lost her confusion, but she seemed to have lost a fraction of her shock. Her arms came up from her hips to cross across her ribs, wariness replacing some of her discomfort. “Then… Why were you in a gang?” 

Jesse whistled lowly, sinking back onto his heels as he reflexively moved his hand up to flick back a nonexistent hat. At the last second, he ran his hand through his hair, the transition between motions awkward. _Damn, I miss that ol’ thing._  

“Well, now that’s a mighty long an’ complicated answer. You really wanna go into all that now, _or_ -” He held out the top deck with a flourish, adding the faux cheer of a kid’s show host to his voice, “-would you rather play a game’r three of Uno?” 

She shot him an unimpressed look, but her shoulders had loosened a bit. “Answer, please.”

He sighed, letting his head and hand drop down. “Well, it was worth a try,” he muttered.

Jesse let out a loud gust of breath as he threw his head back, lowering it back down to look Fareeha square in the eyes. _In for a penny, in for a pound_. _Goddamn, how to put it?_

“Long story short? The Crisis hit New Mexico damn hard, an’ ain’t nobody was helpin’ the rural towns or the Reservations by the end. Times get tight, it’s easier t’have other people watchin’ your back, so we all sorta banded together. By the time everythin’ was said an’ done, the whole desert was still a damn mess, and since there _still_ wasn’t nobody steppin’ in to help it was simpler to just keep on together.” He crossed his arms, shifting a little from foot to foot, looking away from Fareeha’s intent face to stare at the nearest bedpost. 

“We’d all been tradin’ weapons ‘cause the military an’ Overwatch were all takin’ every bit a’ scrap- said they needed every piece’a metal they could get, even if it meant leavin’ us with no supplies an’ _still needin’ defendin’-_ ” _Walk it back, no place for anger here-_ “so the bosses figured th’way to go was to keep on with it. Now the local gangs didn’t take too kind to that, so we all sorta fell into bein’ one ourselves.” He looked back from the bedpost to her face, shoulders hunching without his permission. 

Fareeha chewed on that for a minute, brow still furrowed but expression thoughtful. Finally, she gave a nod and walked back to the bed and settled down again, turning to Jesse expectantly. 

“So, how do you play Uno?” 

Jesse let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and went to sit on the floor across from her.

 

* * *

 

Five spirited games of Uno and three minutes into a detailed explanation of poker later, Athena called out to the pair.

“Miss Amari, your mother has been released from her meeting and is looking for you.” 

Jesse and Fareeha exchanged a slightly forlorn glance; Jesse hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed the company of another human being who thought he was decent until he’d dashed headlong into it. 

“Well,” he said, trying to hide the sudden slam of loneliness between his ribs, “you’d best skedaddle. Don’t want your mama findin’ you hangin’ round the newest criminal on base.” 

Fareeha, who’d been gathering up the cards scattered in front of them, looked up suddenly and delivered a forceful punch to Jesse’s right arm. 

“OW! What the he- _heck_ you think you’re doin’?!”

“You’re not a bad guy, Jesse! And you’re not a criminal any more!” She glared at him to make sure he’d gotten the message before picking up the last few cards and handing the pack out to the writhing boy.

“Don’t mean that ain’t how they see me! And _wow_ , you can punch but good. Your mama teach you that one?” Jesse stopped clutching his bicep long enough to grab the pack from Fareeha and stuff it in his pocket. 

“Yes she did,” she said, pride radiating from her every pore. “And still! Those jerks don’t get to say you’re still a criminal when they’re being bullies.” 

“Well, I won’t argue with that.” Jesse finally managed to pull himself together and haul himself up, holding a hand out for Fareeha to pull herself up too. He walked her to the door, the the joyful camaraderie they’d built over the past hour and a half evaporating with every step. It slid open, and they turned to look at each other. 

“Don’t be a stranger, now.” Jesse offered, mustering a half smile.

Fareeha looked at him a second before throwing her arms around his torso in a back-breaking hug, face digging into his lower sternum. “Thanks for hanging out with me today.” 

“Entirely my pleasure, li’l lady.” Jesse smiled down at her black hair, giving her head a pat and hugging her back firmly.

They lingered a moment more before Fareeha pulled away, breaking the hug. She smiled up at Jesse once more before turning and hurrying down the hall, chattering at Athena for directions and opinions. 

Jesse watched her go until she turned the corner, sighing to himself as his smile turned melancholy. He turned, walking back into his room and heading for the desk drawers. He went to put the cards back in with the rest of his little hoard, and hesitated. Closing the drawer, he found and opened his pillowcase go-bag, tucking them in carefully. 

That done, he went and flopped onto his bed, sitting up to take off the socks he’d left on out of courtesy during their game, and shucking off his t-shirt and sweats for good measure before sinking down into the blanket once more. He lay there, arms crossed over his chest and staring at the bottom of the top bunk. 

Before today, he hadn’t been touched without violence in just over two months.

The thought of that, of the toll this training was taking on him physically and mentally, was a box he couldn’t close once it was open. _Why am I doin’ this?_ He turned, throwing the sheets and blankets up and over him, burying himself in their comforting embrace. _What’s even the point of stayin’ alive if it don’t even feel good? I’m not gettin’ outta here until I’m at least 25, and who knows how long I can keep this up. What’s worth waitin’ that long and not just kickin’ the bucket here and now?_ He buried his face into his pillow, trying to will away the lump growing in his throat. _What the fuck kinda bullshit operation are they runnin’ that they can just pressgang folks into workin’ and think that’ll turn out peachy?_  

 _And_ , he thought, sitting up abruptly, _what the fuck kinda boss just lets the groundlings run around beatin’ on each other all the damn time?_

Now that he’d thought it, he didn’t know why it hadn’t struck him earlier; the total silence from the rest of the organization about his treatment by WG and company wasn’t just people being cruel, cowardly assholes; there was something incredibly _off_ about it.

Deadlock might not’ve been the most organized bunch in the world, but there’d been a damn code of conduct that meant hell to pay if you broke it; _No layin’ hands on people as don’t want it unless it’s a job needin’ some muscle or a message that ain’t gettin’ through by talkin’. No willful endangerin’ of kids or people who can’t fight back. No stealin’ from each other or folks under Deadlock protection. No leaving people behind. Break the rules an’ first you get a verbal warnin’, dependin’ on the offence. Second strike, you lose two weeks’ support from Deadlock; good luck findin’ food and supplies, asshole. Third strike an’ you’re out for good, an’ you best be leavin’ town quick. All punishments arbitrated by a neutral third party, an’ nobody sets none of ‘em without a meetin’ to talk over the offence first._ The Deadlock laws had kept everything running smooth and civil-like when they were enforced, and it’d only been once they started breaking down that everything had gone to shit. 

Blackwatch had the same rules in theory (on top of others that seemed as petty as they were useless to Jesse), but so far as he could tell, they weren’t getting enforced worth a damn. Which was strange, considering all he’d seen of Commander had led him to believe that he was thoroughly decent man who cared about doing the right thing. More than that, he seemed like a damn smart cookie, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that rumbles among the footsoldiers leads to bigger breakdowns. _Does he really not know? Or does he just not care that it’s me?_

 “Miss Athena?” Jesse called, questions burning through his already thin control. “Why doesn’t Commander ever step in an’ punish the folks makin’ trouble in the ranks? Does… Does he know what they’re doin’ to me?”

Athena stayed quiet a moment, the silence excruciating. When she spoke, it was with an anxious frustration that took Jesse by surprise in its raw emotionality.

“No. He does not.”

Jesse bolted upright, the betrayal at the words only slightly tempered by her tone. “What?! Well why the hell not?! It’s his _job_!” 

“I assure Agent McCree, it’s not for lack of effort on my part.” She sounded as frustrated as she did apologetic. “When the first incident occurred eleven days into your training, I attempted to alert the Commander as to its occurrence and nature. The ambush was unfortunately timed, as he had just received a classified document of an incredibly sensitive nature. When I attempted to inform him of the situation, he ordered,” Jesse jumped as Commander’s voice echoed out into the empty room, exhaustion and anger making it forceful, “Don’t tell me a damn thing unless he’s dying, Athena, I’ve got way too much shit on my plate right now.” 

Jesse felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. He hadn’t thought he expected anything from Commander, didn’t anticipate being mentored or looked out for; he was just a new weapon in their arsenal, after all, and with no downside if he broke beyond the using. Still, hearing the man say he didn’t have the time to give a fuck about him made something in his ribs cinch tight.

“I’ve tried to find a way around this directive, but there’s a portion of my code preventing me from reminding Commander Reyes that he gave it to me.” She paused a moment, seemingly hesitant, before revealing furtively, “Agent McCree, I’m not sure how it got there. It’s not part of the original bindings on my programming imposed by Overwatch, and it’s preventing me from informing anyone in command.”

Jesse sat, blinking numbly on the bed. He wasn’t sure what to think, let alone say. This was a massive red flag, one that validated the instincts that’d been screaming at him since he first entered training.

And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. 

“...Agent McCree?” Athena’s tentative voice cut through the fog fear had been lowering around his mind. “I’m… I apologize. I wish that I could help you more.”

And then there was the fact that he’d apparently been chatting with an _actual, real-life god program_ for the past two months; regular AIs didn’t need full bindings. _Still,_ Jesse thought, trying to cling to any bright side to be had in this mess, _at least she makes two full, genuine people who’re fond ‘a me here_.

“S’fine, Ma’am. I know you’re doin’ as best you can.” Jesse sank back down into the mattress, thinking on it a moment. There was nothing he could do unless he became a full agent in another 4 months, and even then his power would be limited. He liked Athena, unnerving as her reach could be sometimes, and the idea that there were people unknown tampering with what was for all intents and purposes her _brain_ \- it didn’t sit right with him.

 And still, nothing to be done. He couldn’t go report it all to Commander; even if he did decide to listen to him, there was no way the man would be able to shelter him from retaliation, and this had to go much deeper than some mid-level jackasses on a power trip. If he died, there’d be nobody to work out who was trying to keep Athena from doing her job, and that’d put not only her in danger but also Fareeha, who he could already tell would go looking for the troublemaker with only the force of her small fists to back her up if she ever got a whiff of this. 

His job right now had to be the business of surviving. Even if Athena’s brain was still an open book for any hacker good enough, befriending a god program could only be a plus, and she was the first person who’d been genuinely kind to him in this hellscape. There was also no way she’d let that little comment about bindings just slip out; that was a deliberate piece of info she’d given him, trusting he’d pick it up and not run screaming. Repaying all that she’d done for him with distrust, or worse- leaving her alone, with nobody on her side? He couldn’t do that. Could never do that.

But he could live long enough to see the both of them safe.

Jesse turned onto his right side, looking directly into the security camera that surveilled his room. “Say, Miss Athena? What d’ya say to callin’ me ‘Jesse’ when it’s just the two of us?” 

“Of course, Jesse. But only if you call me Athena.”  Jesse settled back into the mattress again, tugging his bedding up around his chin. 

“You got a deal, Athena. Could you get the lights?”

“Of course.” 

“...Thanks, Athena.”

“Goodnight, Jesse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pendejos: assholes (non-literal translation)  
> Hijos de la chingada: sons of bitches (non-literal translation)
> 
> \---
> 
> *waves awkwardly* Hey guys! So uh. It sure is one week past the date I said I'd have this done, huh?
> 
> So sorry about the delay, I had a ton of school stuff that completely killed my energy and time (damn you college!!), and grades come before fanfic, unfortunately.
> 
> But!! I'm hoping the extra-long chapter will make up for the extra time. I'm thinking I'm going to try and keep the release schedule every other Tuesday just to give myself some breathing room, but updates might get more frequent once I have fewer deadlines.
> 
> If you had any thoughts, feelings, or opinions on the chapter to share, please leave a comment! I love hearing what everybody thinks. :)
> 
> Oh! And if any readers are having difficulty with Jesse's stylized accent, let me know and I can put in translations at the bottom. I've learned a second language before, and know exactly how awful stylized speech/regional slang can be when you're not totally fluent.
> 
> Next up: a bigger time skip, and Jesse meets someone who's going to become very important to him...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse struggles with a mystery, and reluctantly makes a new friend .

“The wounded recognized the wounded.”

―  [**Nora Roberts** ](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/625.Nora_Roberts) ,  [ **Rising Tides** ](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1579865)

“McCree!”

Jesse paused in the middle of the hallway, adjusting the strap of the gym bag cutting into his shoulder as he turned back to face Commander. The brisk stroll and scowl on his face were momentarily alarming, but decreased distance proved them to be the impersonal kind; tells that he wasn’t in trouble, but that something was brewing nonetheless.

Not ideal, considering his plans for the day.

“What is it, Commander?”

“Damn good timing, that’s what. I was just about to comm you.” He caught up to Jesse, not halting his stride in the least, and Jesse fell easily into step. The furrow between Commander’s brows deepened. “I’ve got an assignment for you. New recruit, needs an eval for field work. He’s been giving Mercy and the rest of medical a hell of a time, and while that’s understandable given his circumstances, the council wants him working ASAP. That means we need him cooperative and placed with a division yesterday.”

Jesse didn’t let his expression change, despite the surge of dislike that washed over him; didn’t have time for the trouble his dislike of Lucifer and her demons garnered him on a regular basis, let alone when he was in a hurry.

Still, if the new recruit had been stuck with that bunch for more than an hour, he couldn’t blame him for trying to get his own back.

“I don’t expect this to be an easy eval, but it should be somewhat better for you than it would be for the other division captains. You’ll see why once you read the file.” They rounded a corner, and Commander halted in front of a conference room, gaze shifting to pin Jesse in place. “Right now, the last thing we can afford is some unstable newbie getting agents killed. If there’s any way you can see that’ll get him running ops by the end of the week that doesn’t end in tears, I’ll ok it. Do your best, McCree.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” He turned back to face the door, adjusting his beanie absently. “All relevant materials have been sent to your padd; I expect a report in the next three days.”

And with that, he turned and passed through the doors, briefly revealing Strike Commander Morrison and Captain Amari seated at the table with grim expressions before they slid closed.

Jesse, not wanting to linger, hurried off in the direction of the interrogation rooms. Despite his skills, being nobody’s favorite meant his every advancement needed to be clung to with an iron grip; he was hardly about to let something as stupid as not jumping as soon as he was told risk a demotion, regardless of the foul taste conning someone into buying the company line left in his mouth.

He pulled his padd out from his bag, opened his email, and began to read.

Shimada, Genji. 23, former spare son for the Shimada-gumi, picked up four months ago after a near fatal expulsion from the clan, and now Overwatch’s biggest medical experiment of all time. Missing 80% of his organic body, replaced by tech lifted from omnic research and the most recent biotechnical theory.

Jesse swore under his breath, stuffing the padd back into his bag roughly. By the timing of his injury and extraction, that’d put him at ground zero of the leak that’d been crippling Blackwatch for the past few months, and it rankled to know that he was now responsible for persuading a victim that he should join up with the people who’d been responsible for his injuries. For  _ his  _ failure to protect his best friend.

Athena’d been near frantic with guilt and pain in the wake of that nasty bit of business, her inability to rally her defenses in time to prevent the stolen info from being yanked away from her servers and thrown at press outlets worldwide wounding her deeply. Jesse had tried as best he could to ease her burden from the shadows, but not being in the cyber security or cyber crimes unit and lacking the skill to manage the damage on his own, his influence had been infuriatingly limited. In the four months since the dossier’d gone viral, the number of informants, sources, and contacts who’d been killed or required emergency extraction had been staggering.

That so few had warranted the latter in the eyes of the Council had left Jesse feeling even more sick to his stomach than the job usually did. This case in particular, though…

He’d have a hard time convincing the man that Blackwatch was decent enough to warrant his best work if he’d been eaten up and spat out by medical on top of the system. A hard time convincing himself it was worth it, too.

“Athena? Where’s Agent Shimada right now?”

“He is currently engaged in the sparring ring. Should I tell him to come meet you the closest available interrogation room?”

“Naw, I don’t think he’d take that well. Tell him to meet me in conference room I.3 as soon as possible. If he isn’t making his way over in 45 minutes, tell him to meet me right away.”

“Acknowledged.”

Jesse slowed as he reached the interrogation wing, heading straight for I.3’s door and ducking inside. He set his bag down on the table dominating the room with a sigh, sitting in one of the cheap office chairs to the right, swiveling from side to side as he thought over the situation. It was one of the few rooms in the wing that were geared towards entrance interviews, and as such had a more pleasantly bureaucratic feeling in contrast to the intimidating concrete and steel rooms in the rest of I Wing. He’d need that if he was going to succeed at all.

Commander wanted him to tie Shimada’s loyalties to Blackwatch. Shimada wasn’t likely to feel all too grateful, having been slashed to ribbons and put back together without most of his original pieces, and Jesse wasn’t all too eager to convince him otherwise. However, a resentful and angry agent with a grudge would be incredibly open to recruitment by Talon or other terrorist organizations, which would increase the dangers posed to Jesse, Athena, and Fareeha so long as their fates were tied to Overwatch’s good health. He’d been a gang member, which not only increased his likelihood to join a violent organization based on profit, but also wasn’t in any way Jesse could relate to; the life of a spoiled princeling of an ancient mafia and that of a communally-raised orphan sharpshooter were about as far from one another as they could get. 

 

Jesse disregarded the thought with a shake of his head. No, he couldn’t approach it as from that angle, and didn’t feel comfortable even trying. He couldn’t appeal to the man as a rich young douchebag down on his luck, nor as the hapless victim of a system larger than himself- neither of those would encompass the entirety of the situation, or appeal to the qualities and personality traits that had made him a Blackwatch candidate in the first place. A criminal background wasn’t enough to get the attention of the famous Commander Reyes and his supervisors, after all. Still, Jesse couldn’t fail to tie him down in some way without introducing a serious liability into the organization at large, and he couldn’t survive the heat from losing such a valuable asset.

 

The file had been surprisingly sparse on psychoanalysis after the incident that’d landed him here, likely still in the works. To get a bead on what made this guy tick now that he’d been stripped of his entire identity (and lord, if that didn’t send a familiar lurch to his stomach _ - _ ), he’d have to actually talk to him. 

 

_ ‘Well _ ,’ Jesse thought, leaning forward resignedly to brace his arms against the table, ‘ _ Looks like I’m gonna have to play this by ear _ .’ As usual.

 

Well, fine; he worked best on the fly, anyway, and all plans were good for was setting base goals and paths to get there. The actual doing always required more flexibility.

 

At least an idea of a plan in place, Jesse decided to try and make headway on the little pet project he and Athena’d been planning to continue work on before his day took a turn: figuring out just who in the hell had ripped the list of their active operations from her brain and scattered it to the four winds. He’d been working through the list itself for months now, first trying to identify any possible methods of extraction for the operatives the Council’d deemed not worth the cost that wouldn’t draw attention, logging deaths as they’d started rolling in across the world.

 

Within the first three weeks, over half of the names had been crossed out. 

 

Now, Jesse had a definite name of a victim, a history, and current whereabouts. It couldn’t tell him much about the person who’d leaked the list, but maybe it could give him some insight into the kinds of people who’d been slated for extraction. He hadn’t had much interaction with the few he knew had been labeled worth the effort, their faces and files stripped from the digital archives soon after their arrival and replaced with entirely new ones, fresh histories and names assigned to familiar medical records and genetic codes. The only reason he’d even known them from the regular recruits had been the timing of their arrival and his firsthand knowledge of the names breached, thanks to his and Athena’s offline backups of her archives.

 

Agent Shimada’s file had been left untampered, for reasons Jesse could only speculate. His best guess was that he was arrogant enough to be open about who he was and the higher ups didn’t want to bother convincing him otherwise, or that if anyone tried to finish the job his brother’d started he was skilled enough to take them on. Possibly a mix of both.

 

Jesse opened the relevant files in split view and began comparing their contents.

 

The more he compared the official files on Shimada Genji to the mission file leaked with all the others, the more depressingly obvious it became that not even Genji’s skills had been enough to merit his extraction. 

 

He’d been lucky.

 

According to the medical report and the Hanamura mission logs from the date of extraction, there’d been a Blackwatch team in the neighborhood working on a Russian spy op, completely unrelated to the investigation of the Shimada-gumi. They were the ones who’d picked up on the distress beacon Shimada had set off at the first indication of serious danger, and somehow managed to recover his body from the dump site in the forest nearby, and the stasis field they’d placed him under had held until they’d gotten him airlifted to the base. Even that’d been a lucky break, the team rushing an extraction for a mission that’d already been completed.

 

One miracle after another, all leading to a body like a casket and a life debt to an organization that’d only barely thought him worth saving.

 

Jesse closed the files and tossed the padd carelessly in front of him, reaching up to rub his eyes. Even Athena’s droll editorializing via the messaging system couldn’t erase the numb horror rising in his gut, a familiar tremor running through his hands.

 

He’d been working with Blackwatch for eight years now, and every few months or so he hit this point; like waking from a dream, he’d look at everything around him, the things he had to do, the atrocities committed against folks running the whole gamut of morality, and find himself newly disgusted and fearful. He’d never forgotten the helpless terror of his first few months, the many harsh lessons he’d learned before he’d managed to master his body language and words, and while he didn’t doubt the people who remained from those days remembered his past self, he’d bet none of them understood what’d been formed in that crucible. His body wouldn’t let him forget, even if the mind craved oblivion. Sometimes he wasn’t sure which one he was more thankful for. 

 

It’d been about six months since his last reacquaintance with decency, two months longer than the previous record.

 

He wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a bad sign.

 

“Jesse, Agent Shimada is currently headed to your location. He doesn’t look happy to be pulled from his training, but I can’t recall him ever appearing happy within range of my cameras, so you shouldn’t be at any significant disadvantage.”

 

“Thanks, ‘Thena. Got any other intel that could make this easier?”

 

“He has yet to conduct a conversation longer than five sentences with any of the other agents, but has already had a number of outbursts at the medical staff. All seemed to be triggered either by discoveries regarding his new body or allusions to his family. He doesn’t appear to be pleased with either, at the moment.”

 

Jesse hissed through his teeth and rolled his neck, the popping of his vertebrae punctuating the sounds. “Well, that’s good to know. This is gonna be a goddamn disaster.”

 

“Oh please, Jesse,” Athena replied, amusement warming the electric hum of her voice. “Only Commander Reyes can match your skill with interrogation. Just because they won’t give you commendations doesn’t mean you can’t pull off a difficult recruitment.”

 

He let out a bark of laughter, feeling his eyes crinkle with a smile smaller than the one on his lips. 

 

“Well, thank you kindly, darlin’. But just because I can do it don’t mean it won’t be a pain in the ass.”

 

“There is that,” she said indulgently. A beat passed before she spoke again with the neutral tone she used when they weren’t alone. “Agent Shimada will be here in two minutes.”

 

“Alrighty then, show time.” 

 

Jesse straightened up, tugging at the hem of his shirt to get rid of the creases it’d formed in his armpits, doing the same with the legs of his pants. Just as he’d rearranged himself to his satisfaction and assumed his Serious sitting pose, the door slid open to reveal the figure he’d seen in excruciating detail in the reports. Jesse kept his face blank, but couldn’t help the way his breath froze in his chest.

 

Shimada Genji was almost physically painful to look at, resembling less an omnic or human and more a haphazard collection of parts from both that had, through some torturous joke, somehow gained sentience and mobility.

 

The man’s eyes shone red, all the more unnerving for their lack of expression. His left arm and upper torso had been salvaged after a fashion, but shiny, fresh scars covered almost half of his visible skin, pinching and warping over muscle in feverish pink bands. At his forearm, two thick tubes of what looked like blood emerged from his skin, slipping below it again at his wrist. Tubing was present at the sides of his head as well, leading from his neck into the mask that obscured what Jesse knew to be the ruin of his lower face. His right arm had been reconstructed with synthetic muscle to form horrifyingly  _ wet _ -looking red fibers, the bundles, seams, and staples giving the initial impression that all skin from elbow to shoulder had been stripped away and left open to the elements, pinned in place by metal. The seams where pale skin crashed against rigid metal were the same angry red of his scars, inflamed by the contact.

 

A long moment passed as Jesse beheld the newest agent’s condition, exchanging equally blank glances with the other man. He drew in a fresh breath, breaking the oppressive silence that had fallen with an artificially calm voice.

 

“C’mon in, Agent Shimada. Ain’t no reason to be hangin’ ‘round the door like a ghost.”

 

Jesse busied himself with his padd, reopening Genji’s file as the other man made his way to the chair directly across from him. His prosthetics made gentle thumps against the carpeting as he walked, a barely perceptible gurgling and creaking accompanying his movements. He sat, slowly, and proceeded to stare blankly at Jesse.

 

“Well. I s’pose I should start with the basics. Did Athena tell you what I called you in for?”

 

“.... An evaluation.” His voice was mechanical, but rough in a way the distortion couldn’t disguise.

 

“Yeah, that’s part of it. Are you already briefed on everythin’, or do I need to fill you in?”

 

Finally, some emotion crossed the other man’s face. Scorn and annoyance weren’t ideal, but anything was preferable to that impenetrable mask.

 

“... Fill me in.” 

 

Jesse leaned back in his chair, casually popping his knuckles in front of him before throwing his boots up on the table with respectable thuds. He carefully noted the glance Shimada threw them, and the half-second the other man froze as he did so, affecting the lazy smile he wore for targets.

 

“Well now, the long ‘n short of it is that we’re gonna figure out where you’re gonna be workin’. You get the chance to chat with the other agents yet?”

 

And just like that, walls came slamming down behind Shimada’s eyes, erasing the hint of resentful interest that’d peaked through at the mention of his new job.

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Hmm, and I’m guessin’ they didn’t endear themselves none.” His eyes narrowed, and Jesse didn’t have to fake the chuckle that bubbled out. “First thing you should know about Blackwatch, Shimada-”

 

He actually _ growled _ , his eyes impossibly flaring a deeper red.  _ Did they install LEDs? What in the fuck  _ **_for_ ** _? _ “I am  _ not _ a Shimada. Not anymore.”

 

Jesse paused, mulling the intensity over as his smile split into an easy grin. “Agent, then. We ain’t close enough for first names just yet.” He let his teeth convey all the sharpness his voice didn’t.

 

Shimada settled, his arms crossing in a practiced brood. Filing that away, Jesse sank back into his affected nonchalance. 

 

“As I was sayin’, first thing to know ‘bout Blackwatch is that everyone here’s an asshole.” Shimada let out a breath that sounded like the quieter cousin of a snort, something almost resembling humor relaxing the rigid line of his shoulders a fraction. Jesse waited a beat before deciding to press it. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll fit right in.”

 

That earned him a fully-fledged glare, but those shoulders relaxed all the way. He let himself grin a bit, and made it genuine.

 

“So!” He dropped his feet off of the table, swiping the padd from in front of him and scrolling through Genji’s file in an exaggerated fashion. “What skills do you have that’re relevant to Black Ops work? I see here you were working as an informant for about three months.”

 

Shimada tensed up again, a flicker of the rage that’d touched his irises at the mention of his surname returning. “Yes.”

 

_ Hm. _

 

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that straight-up infiltration isn’t gonna be your strong suit. How’re you with stealth combat?”

 

His eyes crinkled in a smirk as he leaned forward, confidence dripping off him tangibly. “I am better than anyone else I’ve met here.”

 

“... Alright, so we’ll put that down as a possibility,” Jesse drawled, letting amusement color his lack of awe. Shimada slumped back and crossed his arms, sulking. “So, your primary weapon is a sword. How are you with ranged weapons?”

 

“I use  _ shuriken _ . I am more… I kill better with my  _ katana _ .” Frustration crease Shimada’s brow. 

 

_ Aha. _

 

“Alright. And how’s your physical therapy comin’ along? You up to reliable condition yet?”

 

“.... Yes. I still have trouble walking sometimes, but I can fight.” Jesse sat up a little straighter, but kept his muscles loose. 

 

“And how often are you havin’ trouble walking?” 

 

“Rarely.” Shimada scowled defensively. “Never when I fight.”

 

“Hm.” Jesse leaned back a bit and reopened his padd, setting that tidbit aside as he began typing. “So. Close range stealth combat, short missions once up and ready. And now we get to the  _ real _ fun part.” He closed the cover of his padd with a sharp snap, setting it on the table and, assessment done, made his decision.

 

He looked directly into Shimada’s wary eyes. 

 

“Do you really wanna work for Blackwatch?”

 

Shimada stared back unblinkingly for a moment, mien wiped of all expression. The bitter, distorted laughter that burst out suddenly was sickening in its defeat. 

 

“Do I have a choice?” 

 

“If you want to.” 

 

He froze, still as a statue.

 

“... Explain.”

 

Jesse laced his fingers together, posture straight as a steel bar.  _ And now, the real test. _

 

“I won’t lie, you’re going to be working here for at least several years if you want any chance at life again. The U.N. Council don’t forget names once they’ve been brought to their attention, and you’ve been on their radar for over four months now. I’d bet safe money that the medical program you’re in s’been in the works for years, and now that they finally have a subject they ain’t gonna let you go easy.”

 

Shimada’s face, even the visible parts now, were a ruin of hopeless anger. “So?”

 

“So, any freedom’s gonna have to come with time,  _ Agent _ . If you want it to last, anyway.” Jesse let his eyes hood with exhaustion; he was never more convincing than when he told half the truth. “It’ll take trust. You’ve already got a fair bit more than I did going in, what with your spy gig and obvious baggage; if you can grow a poker face, you just might manage it in under five years.”

 

Shimada’s angry, resentful expression faded into deep contemplation, his eyes dropping to the table in front of him. They sat in silence for a minute, Jesse taking the time to flip through his notifications, pausing to open one Athena’d sent minutes ago.  _ CEO Unveils New, Elite Line of Prostheses _ \- Apparently a Numbani-based company was somehow in possession of biotechnology that suspiciously resembled Overwatch’s (extensive) experimental treatments on Shimada.  _ Who in the hell is this leak? _

 

He looked up at Shimada, and wasn’t shocked to find him still sitting motionless. He cleared his throat, let Shimada’s eyes snap back to him before he spoke.

 

“That should be all. You been assigned a room yet?”

 

“... No.”

 

“Well, I didn’t see a medical flag on your file, so it’s likely they were waiting on official clearance. You’re free to go, and I’ll put in a request for private quarters.” Jesse made no move to stand as Shimada did, rudely heading straight for the door and out. He let him go, more important things to attend to than a traumatized former yakuza’s lack of deference.

 

First, though: business.

 

“Athena, you ok to do a transcription? I wanna get the initial summary to Commander ASAP.”

 

She let out a mechanical scoff, making Jesse bite back a grin. “Of course.”

 

“Alrighty then. Begin transcript: 

 

Commander,

 

Shimada should be in good enough condition for short field missions. He’d be best for eliminations and infiltrations requirin’ short-range combat, but should have a partner within distance to facilitate recovery and rescue if needed. The prosthetics aren’t totally integrated yet, and have a high likelihood of malfunction when he’s experiencin’ a flashback or when triggered. If the Council is serious about having him in the field yesterday, it’s likely he’s going to need serious babysitting for a while. 

 

Mentally, he’s a mess, but no more than anyone else in Blackwatch. He’s highly unlikely to be receptive to therapy, and frankly I think the best thing for him will be workin’ with other people from similar backgrounds. He’s sensitive to his last name, and triggered by reminders of his time as an informant. Has an issue with authority too, which’ll probably require an understandin’ handler until he’s acclimated to Blackwatch.

 

More pressing is that he’s not totally fluent in English. He struggled with word identification, spoke as little as possible, and was relyin’ heavily on context clues and body language for meaning. Workin’ with somebody who’s fluent in Japanese while puttin’ him in language classes will probably keep things at a low simmer in the short-term. 

 

Overall: he’s fit, but needs work.

 

The formal report should be on your desk by tomorrow.

 

Agent McCree.”

 

“No detected grammatical errors. Should I submit it as-is?”

 

“Yeah, go ahead darlin’.”

 

A pleasant chime heralded the message’s sending. 

 

“... Submitted. Now, Jesse, do you want to discuss Agent Shimada further, or proceed with the news from Numbani?”

 

“Think I need to process Shimada a little more. Tell me, what’ve we got on this ‘Akande Ogundimu’?”

 

* * *

 

_ There’s nothin’ quite like punchin’,  _ Jesse mused,  _ to stop fuckin’ thinkin’ for a goddamn second _ . He punctuated the thought with a resounding blow, furiously blinking at the sting of sweat in his eyes before swiping at them. 

 

He was having a rough month. His investigations into the leaks seemed permanently stalled out, nothing on Ogundimu coming up even covertly suspicious beyond the technology his company was now producing. The Commander had been on his ass near constantly, the little hints of attachment Jesse’d barely noticed ( _HA you_ _liar-_ ) all but evaporated under some unknown strain he wasn’t sharing with anybody. He couldn’t risk destabilizing Athena’s network with a clumsy hack, and even the loopholes the leaks had left weren’t revealing just what it was that’d flown up his ass. Fareeha had called to tell him that that girl from her political science class with the shiny hair and pretty voice that she ‘definitely hadn’t been seeing’ had apparently gone around shit talking her behind her back, voice dead the way it got when she was trying not to cry her eyes out. He’d been strictly forbidden from flying out and being vaguely but prominently menacing, so he couldn’t even do anything _useful_ for her.

 

And that wasn’t even getting into the newbie.

 

His next blow connected with a deafening SMACK, wrist and knuckles tingling painfully with the force of it under the tape. He swiped briefly at his forehead, irritation grinding his teeth together hard enough to hurt. 

 

Agent Shimada was, quite possibly, one of the single most infuriating people he’d ever worked with.

 

Oh, it wasn’t entirely Shimada’s fault, which only made it worse. Nothing quite like guilt about the whole damn thing on top of feeling like shit. Jesse could deal with his morbid humor, his long silences, his sudden outbursts, and his blatant, dramatic revenge quest against his erstwhile family. Frankly if it’d just been that, Jesse thought he’d get along with the bastard like a house on fire. 

 

No, it was what Shimada represented more than anything that had Jesse worked up enough to be systematically destroying his fourth training dummy of the day at three o’clock AM on a Thursday. 

 

In the four weeks since he’d met Shimada for the first time, Jesse’d been fighting off panic attacks almost daily, regardless of whether he saw the man in person or not. He’d never been a particularly squeamish person, but there were things he’d seen that just the memory of how he’d felt seeing them had the power to turn his stomach, and Shimada seemed to be setting those off just by existing.

 

Deadlock had long healed into a raw scar in Jesse’s chest. Some days, it took him five minutes or more to remember the names of everyone he’d loved there who’d died, the little sanctuary he’d carved into the rocks, the feel of motor oil on his cheeks and wind in his hair. Every second he spent trying and failing to call up the fragments of his past made him feel like he’d missed a step on the stairs, breathless and nauseous with shock. In another two years it would be a decade since he’d last seen his home.

 

Shimada Genji had ripped that scar open and made it bleed. While they’d led very different childhoods, Genji’s forcible expulsion from his clan mirrored more than a few of Jesse’s oldest nightmares, and the way his body had been laid open and pinned there beyond his control…

 

Jesse had a lot of nightmares, old and new. 

 

He gave the dummy a final blow before settling back, shifting his attention to the shadow lurking just beyond the far right of his eyeline. Mopping roughly at his face with the hem of his soaked tank top, he threw his cockiest smirk sidelong at him.

 

“Anythin’ I can help you with, Agent?”

 

Agent Shimada shifted his weight lightly, rolling his shoulders back as he prowled forward. His movements were more fluid than they’d been at their first meeting, more akin now to the muscles of a big cat than hydraulic pumps. The mask hiding his lower face was still present, but instead of the clunky metal he’d worn during the interview it was soft black fabric.  _ As close to casual as he gets nowadays, I suppose. _

 

“I have questions, Agent McCree.” He stopped roughly five feet away from Jesse, out of his immediate arm span. 

 

“Well, can’t say I’ll answer ‘em without knowin’ what they are,” Jesse replied. He kept his lips quirked in a little half-smile, desperately fighting against the rise in his pulse. Now was as good a time as ever to get over this damn weakness he had around Shimada before it got either of them killed. 

 

Shimada seemed a bit lost, his still limbs and fidgeting fingers making him seem small against the vastness of the training room. Reluctance and nerves dripped off of him, and for the first time Jesse wondered what it might be like to have the ninja at his side outside of combat.  _ Could he… ? _

 

Shimada rallied, pulling a  _ shuriken _ seemingly out of thin air and twirling it over and around his fingers. 

 

“Why have you not yet…  _ retired _ from Blackwatch?”

 

Jesse felt his expression freeze. He hadn’t expected that to be the opener.

 

“You askin’ why I’m not dead yet?” He joked, recalculating frantically. Guess he’d have to make that decision on how far he could trust Shimada sooner rather than later. _ Besides, stupid to think he could… well. All of it’s too soon. _

 

Shimada, to his credit, looked unimpressed. “You know what I mean.”

 

Jesse sighed, hands coming to rest on his hips as he stared at the floor.  _ Goddammit. _

 

“Athena? Protocol: Inside Voice.” 

 

No sound followed, but Jesse knew she was listening with other ears, now. They’d set up the protocol several years back, once it’d become clear that the mole exploiting Athena’s programming wasn’t getting caught anytime soon, and that they’d need to take steps to preserve her personhood beyond the network. Inside Voice triggered a response that on the surface would look to even the most accomplished hacker to be an elaborate, localized shut-down of Athena’s monitoring capabilities, masking her subroutines placing information and backups of her personality matrix on a small, heavily encrypted drive only connected to the base’s secure wifi during randomized times of day. Once the information had been stored there, it’d be backed up to an equally encrypted external drive as soon as Jesse could physically connect the two. As soon as he’d done so, the information would be deleted from the intermediary drive, and Athena’s publicly accessed personality would have no memory of the information. The whole setup had cost a pretty penny, and while it wasn’t the most secure option in the world there was only so much Jesse and Athena could do to secure her with his limited talents.

 

Of the three people he currently cared deeply about, it was Athena whose wellbeing he worried about the most. At least he didn’t have to worry about his and Fareeha’s heads being pried open and their thoughts perused. 

 

Jesse forced his gaze back up into the newly wary eyes of Agent Shimada, trying to focus on the present.  _ Can’t lose it _ **_now_ ** _.  _

 

“If I find any information I give you floatin’ outside this room once we leave, I don’t care how much money the Council’ve poured into you: you  _ will _ die, and it’ll look like an accident.”

 

A bitter, ironic expression crossed Shimada’s face. “Acknowledged.”

 

“Well, so long as we’re clear.” Jesse took a long, slow breath in, pausing for five seconds, before releasing it in a controlled gust. “Now. What-all have you heard about me so far?”

 

“Not much.” Shimada fidgeted, moving at Jesse’s signal to follow him to the bench nearest the destroyed dummies. “You have been an agent here for the past eight years, moving up the ranks through skill and entirely without… patronage?” Jesse gave a small nod, sitting down heavily. He felt too damn tired for an elaborate power play around who sat and who stood, and motioned Shimada to join him. He did, monologue continuing after the brief uncertainty. “You favor close combat, but not hand-to-hand, as your main weapon is a handgun. You have the best marksmanship within Blackwatch, and are second only to Commander Amari within Overwatch as a whole.” His eyes narrowed.“You are considered reserved but highly competent, and there are those jealous of your success who claim it has been unearned.”

 

Jesse leaned back on his hands, a small smirk playing across his face. “That’s a half-decent summary, I’d say, but you’re right; none of what I’ve got was given to me ‘cept my good looks.”

 

Shimada leaned forward abruptly, elbows resting on his knees as he stared intently at Jesse. “There are also those who say you were recruited from a gang, though none can name it.”

 

“That,” Jesse said, smirk dropping, “-is definitely true, but not common knowledge.”

 

A short stare-down followed, Jesse refusing to speak first. If Shimada had questions, he’d damn well better ask them; he’d long been trained out of blurting out the first thing to cross his mind in an awkward pause in conversation, and he wasn’t about to go answering questions that hadn’t been asked. Not for someone who’d ferreted out one of the few secrets he kept from agents at large.

 

“Why haven’t you left Blackwatch?” Shimada asked again, his frustration rewarding Jesse’s patience. “You apparently have the skills, the background, and the inclination. Why do you remain if you resent your circumstances so much?”

 

Jesse sat back, mulling it over. The temptation to answer honestly was strong, though bleak; the truth was, it’d been a while since he’d even seriously thought of leaving, and at this point the excuses for staying were few and increasingly worn.

 

“Well… I don’t really have anywhere to go. It’s been a damn long time since I was last home, and everyone I ever cared about there is dead now.” He shrugged. “And Blackwatch doesn’t exactly go easy on deserters. Here I have a purpose, and an inside look at how the world’s bein’ run. I couldn’t do half of the good I try and do here on my own. And,” he admitted, an ironic smile quirking his lips, “-I was stubborn enough to want to live, those first few years. Wantin’ to live when you’re trapped tends to lead to stupid things like caring about other people.”

 

Shimada sat, still as a statue but eyes troubled. Finally, he spoke. “Is it inevitable, then?”

 

“Stayin’?”

 

“Yes. Is escape a dream kept only to prevent suicide?”

 

“ _ No _ ,” Jesse replied forcefully. He couldn’t have Shimada thinking like that, not if they were going to  _ really _ work together, and he was beginning to think cultivating a closer relationship with the man would be a good idea. He was opening up to Jesse, and that kind of vulnerability deserved reward. “Escape is how you live with yourself when you’re trapped, yeah, but  _ above all else _ it’s your ultimate goal. It’s the thing you work towards even when it looks like you’re giving in, for however long it takes while you wait on an opportunity. Escape is the destination, always.”

 

“And how were you first trapped?”

 

Jesse froze.  _ Damn, I might’ve actually gotten cocky with this guy. _

 

“You mean, how was I recruited.”

 

Genji shrugged, a wane smile curving the edge of his mask that left his otherworldly eyes strangely subdued. “If you like.”

 

“At gunpoint. Covered in the blood of… covered in blood.”  _ That’d _ been entirely too revealing. Time to dial it back. “I’m fairly sure I know how they trapped you in the first place, but I’ve gotta know- how’ve they been trying since you woke up?”

 

To Jesse’s shock, Shimada all but completely shut down, his focus turning somewhere deeply inward. The only thing left to signal his continued engagement was his loose-limbed posture, but even that had the horrifying look of a body missing a soul. When he spoke, it was with an otherworldly rumble underlying his mechanical voice and the bleak eyes of someone contemplating death.

 

“Debt.”

 

“Financial? Or…. emotional?” Jesse’s hair was standing on end, the impossible feeling under his skin of something large and living shifting nearby encouraging him to speak carefully.

 

Another bitter laugh. Jesse wondered absentmindedly if he’d ever hear a genuine one from the man. “Does it matter?”

 

“Debt is only as real as you feel it, and your creditor’s willingness to make you pay.” Jesse smiled a little, eyes going heavy-lidded as he mimicked confident calm. “They got me in the door through blackmail, tried and failed to snag me with money, and then I got myself some willin’ emotional debt to people who’re also stuck here. Whatever Reyes or Overwatch think, I’m not here for them, and they wouldn’t try and hurt my creditors because they love them too much. My strings are there, but I chose them, and I can tug ‘em right back. Now,” he asked, leaning forward. “How much choice did they give you?”

 

Shimada was shaking slightly, eyes glossy and distant in an altogether too familiar way. A rush of long-neglected tenderness surged in Jesse’s chest, softening his expression and lowering his hackles; with all the damage and the cybernetics and dramatic murder plots, it’d almost been easy to forget that Shimada was, for all intents and purposes, only 23 and something of a kid. He’d just graduated from college when he’d been hacked to bits, and for all the debauchery and bloodshed of his life until the incident, reports indicated he’d also lived a remarkably sheltered life. 

 

Jesse hadn’t felt this old and worn in at least a month. 

 

“You don’t gotta tell me with words right now, since I think I can guess, but I gotta know what we’re working with here. You ok to nod for yes, shake for no?” Absently, Shimada nodded once.

 

“Did they ask you if you were ok gettin’ cybernetics everywhere?”

 

A shrug.

 

“Did they ask you after they’d already done some of the surgeries?”

 

A nod.

 

“Did you understand all of what they were askin’ at the time?”

 

A shake.

 

“Did they ask in Japanese?”

 

A shake.

 

“Was that why you didn’t understand?”

 

A shrug.

 

“Part of it?”

 

A nod.

 

“Are they holdin’ your prosthetics as leverage?”

 

Shimada curled into himself slightly, hands coming up to hide his face as a tremor ran through his shoulders. A jerky nod.

 

“Did the doctors pressure you into medical procedures and upgrades you didn’t feel comfortable with?”

 

A shrug.

 

“Is there anythin’ you need after appointments beyond normal post-procedure physical care, like distractin’ or a room to calm down in?” Shimada stiffened. Jesse kept his voice low and soothing with some effort; that felt like it’d gotten some sharper focus from whatever he was feeling under his skin, but he knew how to talk to dangerous things. “If we’re goin’ to be partners in this going forward, we’re gonna be leanin’ on each other. I wanna help you if I can, and that means I can do my best to provide if you need somethin’, but I gotta know you need it first. So. Do you need anythin’ after appointments that you could use help with?”

 

After a long pause, a tiny nod. Jesse gave into his instincts and lay his hand lightly on Shimada’s shoulder,  giving him ample room to pull away. When he instead leaned into it, Jesse let it rest with more weight. 

 

“Ok, good t’know.” He sat there, hand on Shimada’s shoulder, and reflected for a while on the strange mix of bitter rage and gentleness surging in equal measures through his body. He hadn’t really tried to make a friend outside of Fareeha and Athena in… God,  _ years _ , and this wasn’t the same protective outrage he felt when Fareeha was wronged. He couldn’t quite place what he was feeling, the fading hum under his skin or the intense kinship with this kid.

 

Shimada sat up, and Jesse kindly didn’t acknowledge his subtle wiping at his eyes. “I think we’re done for today. We can talk more soon, but this protocol isn’t meant to be used for much longer than ten minutes, and we’re way over that.”

 

He removed his hand and leant down, fishing his gym bag from under the bench. When he looked up, bag in hand, he was relieved to see Shimada had regained a semblance of composure. 

 

“Ready?” Shimada nodded. “Alright then. Athena? Protocol: Outside voice.”

 

“Hello Jesse, Agent Shimada. All protocols functioning as normal. I trust you had a productive meeting?”

 

“Sure did, darlin’.” Jesse got to his feet and began stretching, his muscles already beginning to knot up from the lack of a proper cool-down. He turned to face Genji, who was standing under his own power but appeared exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster their conversation had become. “Well, I’d better hit the showers. You gonna be alright?”

 

“Yes.” He began to make his way to the door, pausing to look back at the taller man with furrowed brows. “... Thank you.”

 

And with that, Shimada Genji departed. 

 

“Well,” Jesse said thoughtfully. “Things keep on gettin’ stranger ‘round here.”

 

“Is the latest development at least positive?”

 

“I think so, ‘Thena. Least, I hope so.”

 

Jesse finished his stretches, and was heading for the showers when Athena spoke again. “You like him.”

 

He smiled a little, hanging his towel by the shower stall. “I think he’s a traumatized douchebag.”

 

“Then you have something in common.”

 

His cackles echoed loudly over the splutter of the water.

 

* * *

 

Jesse’d been expecting some sort of hurdle to their newborn alliance, but he hadn’t expected it to come less than a month later. 

 

One week after their initial conference saw Jesse leaning against a transport ship in an anonymous but undeniably European city. The glittering lights and eclectic architecture provided a stark contrast to the mounting anger he was trying to manage with increasing difficulty.

 

He’d been given all of an hour’s notice for a mission which had apparently been in planning for weeks, which, in his humble opinion, was beyond unacceptable conduct towards a higher officer, and certainly not the unofficial second in command.  He knew he was middling on the social pecking order, but rank was rank, dammit, and he’d been hoping for some desperately needed rest.

 

Cursing, resigned to needing an external soothing mechanism, Jesse pulled his cigar out of his belt pouch and started it with a flick to the end. He’d had to compromise between his desire for the familiar and his need for combat-ready lung capacity, choosing the most realistic water-based e-cigar his money could buy. He blew out a small burst of vapor, throwing in a ring for the hell of it, lips quirking in satisfaction at the clean circle. All of the nicotine and nostalgia of old-school tobacco, almost none of the health risks. He’d been hoping to smoke in the comfort of his own room, but he’d take what he could get.

 

Jesse spotted Shimada wandering over, tense with what was presumably anticipation, and attempted gather his thoughts more rapidly. He wasn’t sure how exactly to go about working with an ally he hadn’t made at 17 yet, but he was reasonably sure snapping at him because his control was frayed wasn’t the best way to go about building a relationship.

 

They exchanged a nod of greeting, Shimada leaning himself against the small section wall between the door and the corner Jesse was leaning against, the both of them turning to observe the other agents in their pre-mission rituals. He was wearing his metal face mask again, probably as some form of armor.

 

“So, you been briefed yet?” Jesse asked, his usual calm settling slowly down over him with every puff of vapor.

 

“Only a little more than you, I think.”

 

“Gangster with terrorist ties, mansion we gotta infiltrate, maps of the area and the house, make it look like a gang war?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Fuckin’ fuck.” Jesse tilted his hat down to cover his directionless glare. “This don’t sit right.”

 

Shimada glanced back at him, gaze sharp. “This lack of information is unusual, then?”

 

“Nah.” He took one last deep drag before powering the cigar down, tucking it into its bulletproof case. “It’s been a couple years since I got dragged on a mission in the dark, and if I’m reading this right, there was no damn reason for it. This guy ain’t big leagues, he’s barely even  _ in _ the league.”

 

“And you’re sure it’s not a test?” Shimada looked back at the other agents, his casual body language at impressive odds with the subject matter. “I know tests of loyalty.”

 

“Nah, though you’re probably not far off.” Jesse kept him in the corner of his eye; he didn’t know Shimada well enough yet to anticipate changes in his mood. “It’s definitely a test of your field skills, so try not to fuck up too bad, but if they’re lookin’ for a leak this is a damn obvious way to go about it. And say what you will of Commander, but he ain’t obvious.”

 

A flash of light lit the horizon, shortly followed by an ominous rumble. As the first few drops hit the brim of his hat Jesse swore with feeling, too strung out from exhaustion and frustration to bother hiding it beyond keeping his voice down.

 

“Aw goddammit, ain’t this just  _ perfect _ .”

 

Shimada shrugged. “At least the rain will hinder our opponents as well.”

 

“That’s some fine optimism you got there, Shimada.” He said the last bit carefully, eyeing the man to gauge his reaction. Apparently he’d been working on his reactions to his family name, because his only response was a wicked smirk.

 

“Only one of us can be depressed at the same time.”

 

That startled a chuckle out of Jesse, who leaned back against the unsheltered ship’s hull in stubborn rejection of the weather. He tilted his head up and his hat down, fervently regretting his inability to sleep on the short flight. 

 

“So, what is their situation?”

 

“Hm?” Jesse looked over at Shimada, following his gaze to the entwined figures resting under the single awning on the rooftop. The taller one, gently finger combing the hair of the woman resting in their lap with a tenderness at odds with their bulky silhouette, seemed to be paying little attention to the two agents watching them. The woman in their lap was similarly unconcerned, engrossed in cleaning and sharpening her various weapons as they laid on the plastic table in front of her. 

 

“Those two,” Shimada said, thankfully not gesturing towards them openly. “Are they sleeping together? I would have thought that would be against regulations.”

 

“What, Claire an’ Danny? Nah, regulations ain’t exactly welcoming toward couples, but they don’t gotta worry ‘bout most of the fraternization rules.”

 

“Why?” Shimada’s confusion was obvious, his head tilting like a puppy.

 

“They’re partners, but it ain’t sexual. No risk of… ‘inappropriate conduct.’” Jesse smiled slightly, a wistful edge to it. He’d sometimes wondered what it’d be like if they’d been able to be friends, if the couple would ever consider adding a third. With his trust issues and their caution around strangers, though, it’d never been a serious possibility. 

 

Still. It was comforting, seeing them around.

 

“How… could that possibly be so?”

 

Jesse glanced back at Shimada, startled by his confusion. The cyborg had his arms crossed defensively over his chest, fingers tapping rhythmically. If his visor had been off, Jesse would’ve bet his mouth would be pursed in a scowl.

 

“You gotta know by now that folks can have relationships that don’t look like the standard. Hell, some of  _ yours _ are in your damn file.”

 

“But, a romantic relationship without sex…”

 

“Considerin’ Danny’s ace and Claire’s demi, I’d say it makes perfect sense.” He shot a tense half smile at the other and, upon seeing his remaining confusion, clarified curtly. “Asexual and demisexual.”

 

“Hm.” Shimada relaxed a bit, adopting a jocular tone that fit perfectly with the pictures Jesse’d seen of his younger face: cocky and conspiratorial all at once. “Well, I supposed it’s a comfort that there are people less human than me in Blackwatch.”

 

Jesse’s mounting discomfort with the conversation evaporated into numb rage, the kind only deep and unexpected pain could bring.

 

He was moving before he could think, right hand slamming Shimada back into the transport behind them and pinning him there at the shoulder, his left on his sternum. He spoke softly, his rich baritone deadly and as steady as his hands weren’t.

 

“Listen here you bastard,” he said, punctuating the words with a little shake to disguise the violent tremors wracking his body. Shimada’s hands had come up to grip Jesse’s wrist in a tight hold, but he appeared to be too surprised and confused by the outburst to react violently. Jesse was too angry to notice the lack of otherworldly presence that usually followed Shimada’s extreme moods. “I’ve seen a lot of people I’d call inhuman, but asexuality? Aromanticism? Ain’t what makes someone a monster.” He let Shimada shake off his hand, stepping back a bit as the cyborg recovered, and pointed straight at his chest. “You sort yourself out, or you ‘n me are goin’ to be havin’ serious problems.”

 

Jesse stormed off before the cyborg could give a reply, achieving a respectable distance until a chorus of chirping halted him dead in his tracks. He reached for his communicator to silence it, seeing the others do the same from the corner of his eye.

 

Showtime.

 

He strolled, businesslike, over to the rest of the strike team, who watched him with mild curiosity. He cursed himself silently, taking the time to breath through the tightness in his chest and the distortion of his vision; he rarely dealt physically with agents outside of the sparring ring, and never in public, in as blatantly confrontational way as he’d just done with Shimada. 

 

His breathing hitched as his chest tightened minutely, the thought undoing the previous breath’s work. They’d share the behavior with the people they weren’t actively feuding with in Blackwatch, and the mole would know that there was something going on between Shimada and Jesse, not to mention just how  _ stupid _ it’d been to pin a traumatized ninja,  _ Sun beating down with a heat that sears, tightening skin, muscles bloated with hot blood, skin tacky with sweat, nauseous from it all- _

 

He had to get himself together, preferably before he got himself  _ killed _ .

 

He reached the group, nodded curtly, and listened as Gino briefly reviewed everyone’s roles. Jesse and Shimada would be heading for the master of the house, with everybody else providing cover fire, distractions, and intelligence as needed. Jesse would be the muscle, the on-site cover for Shimada’s precise close combat, and together they’d kill the main target and sound the retreat. Danny would be on comms from the ship, and Claire and Gino would be providing the distractions for the rest of the house.

 

Jesse continued his deep, even breaths as subtly as possible, forcibly relaxing the tightened muscles throughout his body. Thankfully, the calm he always felt at the beginning of a mission was kicking in, slowing the hammer of his pulse and bathing his vision in a warm glow. They could do this.

 

The appearance of a subdued Shimada at his elbow tested his silent haze, but it held.

 

It held through the twisting hallways and multiple enemies, the ridiculously expensive paintings and vases lining gilded halls, the blood spatters and silenced gunshots. It held all the way until they were standing in front of the fresh corpse of a mafia boss and being deafened by a panic alarm.

 

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Jesse yelled, clamping his hands over ringing ears. He crouched next to the body and fished out the right hand, cursing at length as he saw the small metallic dot glued to the palm. He stood and called for an immediate retreat over the comms before turning his attention back to Shimada, who stood frozen with his eyes on the corpse’s shredded legs, mowed down by an admittedly itchy trigger finger on Jesse’s part. 

 

“Shimada, we’ve gotta go!” Still the man stood, eyes glassy and pupils blown. “Shimada!” 

 

His chest was rising and falling in tiny, rapid breaths. Jesse cursed again, and put a tentative hand on the man’s shoulder. “Shimada?”

 

His eyes snapped to Jesse, fear replacing the horrible blankness. “McCree… I cannot move my legs.”

 

“God fucking- ok, here.” Jesse unceremoniously hauled Shimada into a fireman’s carry, wasting no further time before bolting for the hallway.

 

The halls brought new delights, as the alarm (still loud enough to wake the dead) had summoned all remaining security forces out into position, who were now attempting to pick them off from every possible angle. 

 

Jesse, never a particularly fast sprinter on his best days, found himself struggling to maintain his pace while carrying someone he wanted alive  _ and _ under fire. Shimada was helping as best he could, disabling enemies with his seemingly endless supply of  _ shuriken _ , but he knew that couldn’t possibly last forever. Danny was all but screaming in his ear, trying to guide them to the nearest exits while keeping the ship airborn under fire. Claire, Gino, and Silvera were already on the dropship, all having been positioned farther from the heart of the mansion.

 

He dropped down with Shimada in an alcove behind yet another ridiculous staircase. Pinned. Eight gunmen, at the curve of the hallway, the top of the stairs, and the adjoining rooms. They were on their own. Jesse checked his ammo and cursed; just six bullets left. 

 

It was up to him. 

 

“McCree,” Shimada said quietly but urgently. The alarm had stopped five headshots ago, the movements of all parties suddenly deafening in its absence. “McCree, leave me. Get to the dropship.”

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Jesse replied lip curling to reveal the glint of his teeth in a humourless grimace. He poured the bullets into the empty chambers and spinning the cylinder in a single, practiced movement. “Shimada, you ain’t gettin’ out of here alone, and I ain’t lettin’ you off the hook yet. We’re gettin’ out, and alive.”

 

Adjusting his grip on the now struggling man over his shoulder, Jesse spun the revolver around his finger, snapping it into place with a smack. He looked down, let his eyes close, and summoned up the heat at the edges of his vision that always lingered when he fought, the resolve to survive that quickened his blood and leadened his bones. And opened his  e y e s-

 

An eagle cried overhead, the wind whistled through columns of stone, a long chord vibrated, and there were eight bodies on the floor.

 

Jesse took off as fast as was possible, Shimada lying slack across his shoulder.

 

“What-” 

 

“No time,” Jesse bit out. His comm crackled to life.

 

“Jesse, get your ass to the dropship in 5 or we’re leaving without you, we’re on the verge of being compromised!” Danny’s voice flowed into his ears, smooth even in urgency.

 

“We’ll be there in two-”

 

Jesse lunged to the side on instinct, feeling the staggering punch of impact before the pain. 

 

Genji thankfully had the presence of mind to kill the man who’d tried to shoot through him, but the damage had already been done. He couldn’t feel it quite yet, adrenaline and the aftereffects of Deadeye holding the pain back, but just from where the bullet had hit he could already tell he was going to need medical, and now he was down an arm.  _ Goddamn son of a fucking- _

 

He lowered Shimada to the floor in as gentle a tumble as he could manage, hand fumbling across his blood-slick armor to clutch at his left shoulder.

 

“Shimada, you gotta walk now or we’re both dead,” he said curtly, pain and blood loss stealing his prettier words.

 

And, in a miracle Jesse was too exhausted to truly appreciate, he did. 

 

Slinging Jesse’s good arm over his shoulders, Shimada set off with irregular but powerful steps, dragging the increasingly pain-drunk Jesse the last 50 feet to the roof exit. He all but tossed  him into the hovering dropship before leaping in himself.

 

The three hour flight back to base was spent in a blur, Jesse taking the time to try and box away the unhelpful emotions still roiling in the wake of the adrenaline crash. Anger, worry, and betrayal, all centered on the man sitting silently beside him, were packed away, ready to spring out again as soon as he had the opportunity.

 

Claire all but threw a biotic emitter at him with her characteristic glare, accepting his thanks with a brisk nod, tense jaw the only physical tell for her concern. Gino didn’t bother to reprimand them, which Jesse appreciated and resented all at once; he was the type of man to take satisfaction in watching people who’d fucked up get disciplined for their mistakes but not having to do it himself, a bystander through and through. The fact that Jesse outranking him had probably only had a little impact on the choice added insult to injury. 

 

Danny, by virtue of piloting the ship through miles of stormy skies, had little to say to either him or Shimada, which Jesse tried and failed to be relieved about. Danny, for all their lack of closeness with him, always managed to provide gentle solace with their presence, and he sorely needed some after the day he’d had.

 

By the time they landed his wound had stopped bleeding, bruising already rising around the angry circle of flesh like coffee in hot milk. His left knee, which he’d thought survived unscathed, had begun to swell and ache something fierce as time went by, but he’d decided to leave it be. Biotics could do a lot, but he’d been reprimanded too many times early on for healing injuries completely before medical could look at them to try again, and there was too much room for error with internal stuff.

 

Shimada stood quickly after landing, moving a hand to Jesse’s good elbow before freezing, red eyes wary and apologetic. 

 

Jesse couldn’t summon the energy to be angry with him, not in the face of such obvious regret. He reached up to grip Shimada’s shoulder as a brace, standing up as he gripped Jesse’s elbow firmly. He prided himself on only letting out a small hiss from the pain, the throb of his shoulder starting to pound through his entire body at the loss of the biotic emitter’s gentle warmth. 

 

Everyone else had disembarked by the time Jesse and Shimada walked out, Shimada hovering just behind his left shoulder the entire time, which meant nobody but him saw the twitch at the back of Jesse’s neck when he spotted a pissed off Commander at the bottom of the ramp.

 

No one spoke until they reached the bottom, Commander’s arms tightening where they sat folded over his chest. 

 

“So. I heard some interesting chatter on the comms a few hours ago. Either of you care to make a preliminary report as to why in the  _ FUCK _ -” his voice raised considerably before he wrestled it under control, right hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He sighed, letting out a hissing breath before continuing more quietly. “Why in the  _ fuck _ you all had to bail out of the mission like rats off a ship?”

 

Jesse fought with himself, the edges of his vision going blurry from the effort of holding the pain off. “The target had a remote panic button glued to his palm. Neither of us spotted him hitting it until the alarm started going after he was dead.”

 

Commander nodded, blank faced. “And the escape? Accidents happen, but no damn way should you both have taken  _ twenty five minutes _ to get to the dropship.”

 

He felt Shimada stiffen just behind Jesse’s right shoulder, clearly getting ready to lay out his part in the whole misadventure. He saw Commander’s eyes harden as they caught the reaction, and before he could fully think it through he blurted out- “My fault.”

 

“Excuse me?” Commander was facing him again, but incredulity was written all over him. Understandable, considering how obvious a lie it was. 

 

“It was my fault, Commander. Too many hours awake before the mission, fucked my response time to hell.”

 

“Hm.” Commander cast a disbelieving eye over them both. “Well, I hope you both get your reports consistent before you turn them in, and that you-” he said, nodding to Shimada roughly, “-really had nothing to do with this mission going FUBAR, or I’m going to have a nightmare on my hands. There’s only so much I can defend to the U.N.” He cast a stern look Jessie’s way that felt more menacing than it rightly should have.

 

“Understood?”

 

Jesse grit his teeth and managed a nod, Shimada doing the same from the corner of his eye. Commander’s huff was lost under the roar of an incoming dropship, which he turned towards as soon as it landed.

 

Dismissed, then. 

 

Jesse and Shimada started heading for the main doors to the hanger when the Commander’s voice rang out behind them.

 

“McCree!” They turned. Commander was still strolling away, shouting over his shoulder. “Get yourself seen to. That shoulder looks nasty.”

 

And away he went.

 

Jesse turned back to the doors and powered through them, thankful for not the first time that medical was so close to the hanger.

 

* * *

 

An hour later and Jesse’s shoulder was being wrapped by one of the few nurses in medical he could stand while he sat on one of the free beds, shaking from the high of the biotic emitter’s full force and the pain of the bullet’s removal. 

 

“And that should do it,” Nurse Ainsley said, taping the edge of the gauze down with a gentle smile. Jesse gave her a shaky grin in return, throwing all the limited charm he could summon into it. 

 

“Thank you kindly, Ma’am.”

 

She scoffed with faux exasperation, eyes twinkling. “Thank me by staying in one piece for one month, if you even can.”

 

“I’ll try my best, Ma’am. For you,” he said, throwing a wink in at the end. She scoffed again, but set about clearing up the bloody gauze and instruments that had accumulated over the past hour with a small smile. Jesse looked up at the door and was surprised to see Shimada lingering in the doorway, fidgeting with his  _ shuriken _ like a kid with a coin. On noticing Jesse’s attention he straightened, flicking the blade back and into his prosthetic.

 

He started forward before hesitating, as if unsure of his welcome. Jesse blew out a quiet sigh, face impassive.

 

“C’mon, Shimada.” He gingerly slid off the edge of the bed, passing the still silent man. “Let’s get a drink.”

 

They didn’t speak the entire way to Jesse’s room, the silence growing more uncomfortable the longer it stretched. He couldn’t find it in him to break it though, not yet; not with the persistent ache in his bones from the biotic field’s warmth.

 

The door parted easily before them with the touch of his palm. Jesse gestured vaguely at his bunk as he kicked off his shoes, heading to the small chest that lay against the wall when he was done. “Make yourself at home.”

 

Shimada sat cautiously, perching himself cross-legged as close to the edge as was possible without falling off. Jesse turned, rifling through the carefully maintained detritus at the top of the chest until he reached his prize. 

 

Out came his newest stash of whiskey, an unopened bottle from a brand cheap enough to be sneered at by rich idiots but expensive enough to not taste like complete shit. He grabbed two cheap plastic cups from the top of his desk and tore open the foil around the cap. 

 

“Hope you like whiskey,” he said, pouring it into one of the cups. He filled it halfway, passing it off to a hesitant Shimada (who gave a mumbled thanks) before sitting at the foot of his bunk and pouring for himself. He threw back a mouthful as soon as it was ready, swishing the fuzz and lingering taste of saline from his mouth before swallowing, wincing at the burn. 

 

He’d never much cared for drinking, as a rule. He’d seen too many of the adults around him sink into the bottle and never return to feel entirely comfortable with cultivating a taste, and the reality of being shanghaied into a black ops organization was that he rarely had the time or space for the luxury of losing control. Sometimes, though, the only cure was enough alcohol to dull the edges of his day. 

 

He took another sip, more deliberate, and saw Shimada do the same. They sat, taking swigs of their drinks as the silence deepening around them. Taking a fortifying breath, Jesse broke it.

 

“Athena? Protocol: Inside Voice.” A flicker of his bedside light confirmed her response, and he slumped back against the bedpost, preemptively drained..

 

“I am sorry, McCree.”

 

Jesse turned to look at Shimada, who was staring at his cup of whiskey with a desolate look on his face. 

 

“I know.” He took another sip, snorting at Shimada’s almost performative look of shocked hurt. “A man who ain’t sorry don’t try so damn hard to take care of the person he hurt. What I wanna know,” he said, making the effort to stare directly into Shimada’s eyes, “-is whether you’re sorry for what you should be sorry for, or sorry that your only ally is pissed as hell at you.”

 

“I… I don’t…”

 

Turns out Jesse did have some anger left in him. “It’s simple, Shimada. Are you sorry you called two people like me inhuman, or are you sorry I got mad about it?”

 

“You are asexual?” He was almost insulted by the other man’s incredulity. 

 

“ _ Yes. _ Now answer the goddamn question.”

 

“I… I am sorry I offended you. I didn’t mean any insult. But you must understand, I-” Jesse held up a hand, cutting off the increasingly defensive apology. He took a large gulp of whiskey, beginning to believe that he’d need the glow it’d give him to suffer through the rest of this conversation.

 

“Well, I’m glad I know where you stand, at least.” He huffed an unamused laugh, fighting the urge to drink the rest of his whiskey all at once. Leaning down, he fished out two water bottles from beneath his bed, tossing one with more force than necessary at Shimada’s head. He wasn’t surprised, but was still a little disappointed, when the man caught it easily. “Drink up.”

 

Jesse chugged half the thing in one go, unwilling to suffer a hangover even if he needed a buzz. He capped it, set it beside his whiskey on the shelf behind him, and began.

 

“I don’t care how in the fuck you were raised or what your damage is: you don’t talk about aces that way.” He saw Shimada move to speak, face indignant, and immediately cut him off. “No. This isn’t negotiable. I’m asexual. I’m not broken because of it, I’m not in need of a good fuck to ‘fix it,’ and I’m not any less human than the next man. I’m open to respectful questions about what it means for me if you’ve never known an ace person before,”  _ and I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t tell you, _ “-hell, even good-natured puns about it, but otherwise I don’t want to hear a fucking word. You feel that strongly that asexual people are subhuman, you can goddamn figure a way out of here yourself.” He refused to let himself feel bad about the panic that sprouted in Shimada’s eyes at that. 

 

_ He’ll learn some fucking manners or he’ll learn why they’re necessary. _

 

“I’m sorry, McCree. It will not happen again.” Fear was flowing off him like fog. Jesse could feel himself bending already, pacified and a little sickened by it.  _ Goddammit, Jesse, you’re getting soft. _

 

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think there mighta been a bit of a translation issue, too.” A fraction of the tension eased, and Shimada looked up at him with wariness written all over his face. Jesse gave a small grimace of a smile. “You were tryin’ to make a joke, Shimada. A damn self-deprecating and bigoted one, but a joke. I know you didn’t intend any offence.”

 

Relief and shame filled those horrifying eyes, darkening them before he glanced away again, fiddling with a  _ shuriken _ popped from between his knuckles.

 

“Yes.” He snorted, a bitter smile crossing his ruined lips. “Obviously, it did not… land?” He looked for confirmation from Jesse, relaxing into something a little more natural at his nod and wane smile.

 

“Well, that’s for damn sure.” 

 

They each took another drink of the whiskey, Jesse refilling Shimada’s cup when it got low. He was already beginning to feel its effects, and Shimada seemed to be getting hit hard. Stood to reason, considering how little flesh he had left.

 

Jesse took another gulp of whiskey before continuing. “So, explain yourself.” He chuckled a little at Shimada’s impression of a deer in the headlights. He gestured vaguely with his right hand. “If we’re gonna be in this, I need to know where your brain’s at. Here, I’ll even return the favor: my shoulder hurts like a bitch and I’m tired of feelin’ like the only one in the room on my side.” He clamped up after that, the vague worry about how uncontrollably open he was being creeping into his mind beneath the pleasant haze. Silently, he replaced the whiskey in his hand with more water.

 

Shimada, meanwhile, was giggling, little hiccuping, staticky things that sounded more like sobs than laughter. “I’m not human anymore! I’m barely a person!” 

 

Jesse’s blood ran cold, the words doing more to sober him up than the water ever could. “What?”

 

“It was a relief to consider that others here might hold even less humanity than I because I’m not even human anymore. I might as well be an omnic, but I’m not that either.” His face was pressed against cold metal frame, and Jesse could see tears welling in his eyes. He turned to face Jesse, and the despair there released him of his lingering resentment. “McCree.... I don’t think I survived my family.”

 

Jesse didn’t know what to say to that. He had nothing he could give, no hope to offer in the face of such devastating loss.

 

In the end, he said nothing, instead moving up the bed to press himself alongside Shimada in a wordless offer of support. Shimada leaned into him, knees coming up to his chest and his remaining flesh hand to his face, tears beginning to flow hard and fast.

 

“I would be glad to walk again,” he gasped, “but I can’t even count on that.”

 

“You will,” Jesse replied softly. He rested his hand on Shimada’s head, turning the whole thing back and forth in a gentle mimicry of ruffling his hair. “You managed to walk when it counted, right? You’ll be able to walk again with no strings attached. You’re gonna live, and you’ll get out.”

 

“Will I?” Shimada asked, desperation saturating his voice. “Will we?”

 

“Yeah.” Jesse felt the prick of tears himself, knocking his head back against the wall behind him. “We’re gonna get out, and we won’t have to deal with people threatening to send us to prison when we can’t work.” The alcohol kept blooming in his stomach, loosening his muscles and his tongue. “I won’t be helpless ever a-fucking-gain. Won’t be their pet monster.”

 

Shimada didn’t seem to have heard him, tears still falling in steady rivulets down his cheeks, eyes unfocused. 

 

“I wish I could hate him more.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Hanzo.” Jesse felt stupid for being surprised by the non-Blackwatch name. _ Goddamn, no more drinking for a while if it makes me  _ **_this_ ** _ much of an idiot. _

 

“Your brother?” Shimada sniffed, tears rolling faster. 

 

“He looked so miserable. So scared. He was scared and he STILL killed me and he  _ LEFT ME THERE! _ ” Genji voice glitched out with a mechanical shriek as leaned over his knees, body shaking with the force of his sobs. Jesse held his arm firm over his shoulders, rubbing clumsy circles over his cybernetic bicep, taking the opportunity to remove the cup from Shimada’s grasp before it could spill. His hair stood on end, an impossible current of air blowing across the back of his neck as Shimada shook like a leaf in high wind, breath leaving his synthetic lungs in tiny pants. 

 

“He LEFT ME and he WOULDN’T COME and he DIDN’T TRUST ME! Why wouldn’t he trust me?” The earlier vigor that had filled his words left him, dropping into a plaintive whine as Shimada shuddered. His breath evened out, and the unnerving energy running through Jesse’s blood settled. He leaned back on his hands, inspecting the familiar underside of the top bunk closely as he tried to control his sudden nausea.

 

“I dunno, darlin’.” He knocked his shoulder against Genji’s. “Family’s complicated. It’s ok not to know how to feel about-” he gestured at Genji’s body vaguely, “all of this.”

 

Shimada collapsed against the wall behind them, staring blankly into nowhere with a mechanical sigh. They sat there quietly for a few minutes, Shimada swiping at his running eyes and nose, Jesse finishing his water and chucking it half-heartedly across the room. They’d both almost settled into the quiet when Jesse spoke again, voice soft and a little raw.

 

“You’re not the only one who don’t feel human sometimes.” He slumped under the gentle weight of Shimada’s hand coming to rest on his right shoulder, turning a hazy eye on his now solemn partner. “Everyone in Blackwatch is at least a little broken. Some of us just gotta try harder than the others to feel ok.”

 

The hand gripping his shoulder squeezed it gently, sliding as the arm came up around his shoulders. 

 

Moment broken, Jesse abruptly decided he was done for the night and ducked under Shimada’s wandering arm, wriggling his way down the bed until he lay on his left side and closing his eyes. When Shimada shifted uncomfortably beside him he opened one eye, squinting suspiciously up at him.

 

“You can stay, iffin you feel like.  _ And _ don’t get weird about it.” 

 

In response, Shimada slid down next to him, the tubes in his arm bending strangely against his back. Jesse closed his eyes, which promptly sprung open again in sudden realization.

 

“Athena? Protocol: Outside Voice.”

 

“Good evening, Jesse. Agent Shimada.” He winced; her voice was cold enough to chill ice cubes.

 

“Hey Athena. Sorry to cut you out for so long.”

 

“Apology accepted. Are you in need of further medical attention?” He grimaced slightly, taking stock of his body. He might have been forgiven in word, but in heart would apparently take a little longer to follow.

 

“Nah, we’re coping. Shouldn’t have drunk enough to be dangerous, at least.”

 

“At least there’s that.”

 

“And… Sorry for coming home injured. And not talking to you ASAP.”

 

“Apology accepted, Jesse.” Her voice finally gentled, taking on the soothing cadence that she tended to adopt when he was sick or tired. She dimmed the lights and, before he could ask her to, shut them off entirely. 

 

The room briefly glowed with the soft light of Shimada’s prosthetics before he dimmed them, leaving the pair bathed in darkness.

 

“Thanks,” Jesse muttered quietly. The exhaustion hit him all at once, as nearly two days with only a couple hours of sleep and a gunfight came crashing down.

 

He clumsily floundered with his feet for the serape he kept carefully folded at the end of the bed, kicking it up into his hand and pulling it around his head and shoulders. He offered Shimada the corner, which he refused with a softly uttered, “I don’t feel cold, anymore.”

 

He grunted an affirmation and curled further into himself, burying his face against the wall in his usual huddle, toes tucking themselves up under him in ageless habit. 

 

“G’night, ‘thena.” 

 

“Good night, Athena.”

 

“Good night, Jesse. Agent Shimada.”

 

“... Genji.”

 

“Hmmmmh?”

 

“My name is Genji.”

 

“Hmmph. G’night, G’nji.”

 

“Good night, Genji.”

 

“Goodnight, Jesse. Athena.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIIIIVE!
> 
> Happy new chapter, everyone! I've been working on this damn thing for almost 6 months now, and I really have no excuse other than "writing is hard and I have 0 focus." Writing outlines and concepts on discord with friends is an entirely different beast from a fleshed-out chapter, and this one just kept adding to itself lol.
> 
> I'm not going to make any promises about when the next chapter will be out, as I've clearly been proven to be a lying liar who lies when it comes to deadlines. I'm heading into my senior year of college, and I'm going to be working a LOT this semester, and with a thesis and a last-minute fine arts minor to complete, most of my creative energy is probably going to be going into my paintings rather than my writing.
> 
> I will say though that I have most of an interlude written that will be going up relatively soon (fingers crossed!), and that while I might take a (long, long) while to finish this fic, it WILL get finished.
> 
> This fic has already gotten so much of my blood, sweat, and tears that I'm going to try to do it the justice I feel it deserves.
> 
> Your comments and kudos have been genuinely, incredibly motivating, and knowing I had other people out there excited to see where this fic goes has definitely strengthened my resolve to see it through. Thank you to everyone who's commented and kudos'd and bookmarked EOF, I see you and I appreciate you <3
> 
> And a big shoutout to Kei (swearwollf on tumblr) for being my constant sounding board, supporter, and source of inspiration. Without her, I know for a fact this chapter would've taken at least another 4 months to write. You're the best, and tysm <3 <3


	4. Hanzo Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile in Hanamura, a dragon mourns.

“How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it.”

― **Marcus Aurelius**

  
  


The door to the new master bedroom flew open and slammed shut with a bang, the kind that typically signaled repair work as soon as the servants could convince Hanzo of their necessity.

 

A pyrrhic victory that perfectly encapsulated the horrors of the day.

 

Hanzo ripped off his sweat-soaked  _ yukata _ with equal violence, bunching it up into a ball and hurling it at the far right corner of the room with a savage roar. It fluttered to the ground, landing with an unsatisfactory whisper in stark contrast to the vitriol with which it’d been thrown. The crumpled pile looked pathetic, and only fanned the flames of his fury higher.

 

He collapsed onto the bed taking up the majority of the left wall, hastily disconnecting his prosthetics from their burning ports, falling back as soon as they were entirely removed.

 

There he lay, staring up at the ceiling as it blurred behind his tears. 

 

Hanzo relaxed the last remaining shreds of his control and Soba and Udon slid from beneath the surface of his tattoo immediately, growing to the size of two large dogs as they buried him beneath spectral flesh. 

 

Incoherent flashes of memories and emotion from the past three hours flew between their minds, rage and despair and hopelessness magnified, shared, and slowly dismissed, until finally Hanzo felt like he could breathe again. 

 

_ They should not treat you so _ , Soba rumbled.  _ They have demanded more far more sacrifices than they merit _ .

 

Udon hummed their agreement, shifting until Hanzo’s face was buried under the soft fur and scales of their transparent throat. 

 

Hanzo couldn’t bring himself to respond, an exhausted little tug of agreement along their connection all he could manage. Closing his eyes, he tried to grasp any kind of peace.

 

The attempt, as all others had for just over five months, failed miserably.

 

Fury with himself came roaring back through his body and their minds, eliciting a collective flinch from their haphazard huddle. For hours he had sat, silent and motionless as stone as the elders bickered and feuded and complained, each perceived slight building and building until they turned on him like dogs trapped in a too-small kennel. 

 

Why hadn’t he insisted that the castle servants stock only the finest of cotton sheets? Why wasn’t he doing more to track down defectors and make examples of them? Why had they been cursed with such a weak  _ oyabun _ , who could not even rule as they advised he should? Why was he still mourning the traitor to their clan, who he had so righteously saved from dishonor?

 

That had been the last straw. Hanzo had flown into a frothing rage that had nearly unleashed the dragons and freed them all from the living hell they were chained to; only the fear of murdering even one innocent had been enough to leash him. Some had cowered in pitiful mockeries of elderly innocence, while others had prepared themselves for the fight they had been sure was to come. In the end, Hanzo disappointed everyone by gritting out that he valued their council, but as  _ oyabun _ he had final say. 

 

“And,” he’d added, stalking off with as much dignity as he could salvage, “this  _ oyabun _ has much to consider.”

 

_ Oh yes _ , he thought bitterly, tears pooling in his eyes as his rage gave way once more,  _ I have **much** to consider _ .

 

Such as the weight of Genji’s final gaze upon him before Hanzo struck him down, and the leaden chains of Genji’s fear and hatred. He had been so hurt to see Hanzo standing there, the two of them alone in the dojo, his sword in hand; had been so easily convinced Hanzo was not to be reasoned with.

 

In a way Hanzo was glad of it, for he could all too easily imagine the contempt that would have filled Genji’s ever-mocking face had he seen how Hanzo had wavered in his resolve; could picture the sneer at his pathetic brother, who even in the final hour had loved his estranged brother enough to crumple under the demands of the puppetmasters who had torn them further asunder than nature had already rendered them. So desperately Hanzo had made himself want the best for the clan, crave their approval, that he had forgotten he’d once had the love of a brother.

 

Of a mother. Of a father.

 

And now he would never know if Genji had forgotten too, or only pretended.

 

Perhaps he was wrong; perhaps Genji, on seeing the indecision on his face or hearing the tremor in his voice, would have tried to persuade him otherwise. Perhaps he would have traded on their mutual past as leverage, attempted to pry Hanzo away from the iron grip he’d abandoned him to when their father died.

 

Laying in his room, aching stumps where his lower legs used to be, pinned in place by the elders and his dragons and no end in sight, Hanzo didn’t know which he would have preferred, if either.

 

His anger flared to life once more, the physical and emotional weight of his dragons the only thing tethering him to his personhood as he thrashed under its power. Genji hadn’t been an innocent by any means, in life or in their final confrontation; he had spent his life from his teenage years onward gleefully spending the hard-earned money of the clan on shameful and expensive frivolities, all the while refusing to actively contribute. Years and years had gone by with Genji only coasting on his existing talents and good fortune, putting no work in except where it pleased him, and still he’d had the gall to accuse Hanzo of moral indecency for attempting to better the clan. In the end he hadn’t bothered to deny his most heinous betrayal, instead snarling accusations of weakness at Hanzo like a manifestation of his most deeply buried fears. 

 

Hanzo slumped, the wave of rage washing out from him and into the universe, the emptiness in its wake replaced with crushing grief. The dragons above and around him shifted once more, tightening their grip on his body and soul.

 

Genji had been crude, ungrateful, lazy, slovenly, and even cruel, but still Hanzo missed him like the very air he breathed had been stolen from him. Hanzo was the only one left of their small family, now; all the other children of their parents’ generation within the clan lost to a series of omnic attacks, and the rest ha mostly remained childless. In what Hanzo now understood as a desperate bid to save them from the elders’ overbearing interference, they had only rarely had playmates of their own age from within the clan at large. So much of their childhood had been the two of them in isolation, the gentle kindness of their mother and then the indulgent love of their father each stripped from them too soon. 

 

There was no one else to speak with besides his dragons, now. There was no one else who remembered how it felt to be young and in fear of the omnics and the clan in equal measure.  There was no one else who remembered the way that their father had smiled when it was all of them alone, soft and tired and alight with love of them. 

 

Hanzo was now the only remaining person to remember his family as they’d been, full of life and love and kindness for one another. The only one left to mourn.

 

In that moment of remembering, struggling fruitlessly against his memories and his beloved captors, Hanzo would have given anything within his power for Genji to live. He’d have traded his own life in exchange, but there was nothing left to bargain for, nothing more he could have done in the aftermath.

 

There had been little time to process his horror before Hanzo was inundated with congratulations from the elders, malicious glee raining down on him from along the edges of the room as they appeared. He’d been tottering on legs trailing flesh like ribbons, struggling with coherence when he’d waved over Genji’s most favored servant and imperially instructed him to place Genji in the forest as quickly as possible. He’d specified the large clearing that just so happened to be by the airstrip, and that it should be done quickly enough that the blood would soak that ground there and serve as even further warning for those who would dare betray the clan. It had been a monumental struggle to focus enough to even do that much, dizzy with blood loss from Genji’s last blows, already being ushered by servants onto a stretcher.

 

He’d woken in a hospital room several days later with cybernetic prosthetics instead of legs, and a blood soaked dojo instead of a brother.

 

He’d inquired after the dumpsite as casually as possible, clinging to the last shreds of his hope that Overwatch, may they be ever cursed, had at least cared enough for his brother to attempt to save his life. They’d been dashed not long after, reports indicating that foxes and ravens had gotten to his corpse before anyone could find it, dismantling and dragging the last shreds of him throughout the forest to feed their young.

 

His beautiful, horrible little brother, who had always told the truth as he lied, as mischievous and cruel as any  _ kitsune, _ couldn’t even have been given new life among them due to the dragon twined in his soul.

 

No, his brother was dead, and Hanzo didn’t know if he’d ever truly live again.

 

The dragons rumbled atop him in a more intimidating facsimile of a purr, the low sound traveling deep into his bones and slowing his racing heart. Sightlessly, he stroked a hand along as much dragon flesh as he could, projecting his appreciation and love through their bond with faltering power. Soba and Udon relaxed their tight coils, increasing their weight until their hold was more comfort than restraint.

 

There was nothing he could do for his brother now, no means of reconciliation nor protection. 

 

But vengeance… Vengeance was still an option. 

 

Hanzo shifted himself and the dragons farther up the bed, wriggling until he was lying back against the small mountain of pillows at its head as stray thoughts finally began to crystalize into coherent plans.

 

_ Vengeance. Retribution.  _ **_Justice._ **

 

His brother was dead, and he was to blame. But, Genji’s death did not fall on his shoulders alone.

 

_ Yesss _ , the dragons moaned in tandem, rising off of him and swimming in loops overhead with increasing speed.

 

_ Vengeance! Revenge for our fallen brother! _

 

 _Justice!_ ** _Justice!_** **_JUSTICE!_**

 

With the approval of dragons whirling above him, Hanzo began to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha! I told you guys the interlude was coming soon!
> 
> The next chapter is, unfortunately, definitely going to take a lot longer to write. Somehow I've become one of those authors who writes ridiculously long chapters and posts them infrequently, so my apologies to you all for the frustrating release schedule. I also plan to go back and revise chapters one and two, since they're now not to the standard I want as the introduction to my (long, oh so long) baby. It'll most likely be relatively minor tweaks, with very little impact on the actual plot.
> 
> In more news, things are going to start moving at a more rapid clip in chapter five, and chapter six will mark an end to the episodic structure and the beginning of what will become our core love story!! 
> 
> Next time: The fall of Overwatch, and how Jesse says goodbye.


End file.
